


Growing Pains

by Gingersoup



Series: Growing Pains [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disguise, F/M, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Polyjuice Potion, Potions Accident, Redemption, Romance, School Dances, Sexual Tension, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 87,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingersoup/pseuds/Gingersoup
Summary: When Draco Malfoy turns himself in to Dumbledore instead of killing him, he's set on a long and lonely path to redemption. Meanwhile, Hermione's undying curiosity, in addition to her menstrual cycle, results in an unexpected breast examination that changes everything. "'Can't you just check to make sure?' Draco watched as she reached to unbutton her blouse. 'Oh, bloody hell.'"





	1. Let's Get Started!

Searing pain ripped through Draco Malfoy’s arm, burning and tearing and ripping his very skin apart; the Hogwarts infirmary filled with a scent remarkably akin to burnt meat. He gritted his teeth and glared daggers at the nurse across from him.

“Bloody hell, you might as well just cut the damn thing off,” he ground out. Madame Pomfrey tisked at him, but didn’t cease her wand’s movements. Up and down. Up and down. Draco resisted the urge to snatch his arm back from her horrid grasp.

“You’re asking me to do something nearly impossible, Mr. Malfoy,” she admonished him. ”I’d expect you to be a little more thankful.”

Draco wanted nothing more to simply stand up and say, “I’m keeping the fucking mark. You and Dumbledore can sod right off.” but even  _ he _ understood that simply wasn’t an option: for him to continue his seventh year and be safe from the Death Eaters and their insatiable thirst for blood--his blood--he had to lose the mark. He wished desperately it could have been a one time session with Pomfrey, but they weren’t sure how long it would take or how many sessions. He might have to do this every week for the rest of the bloody year. Just thinking about it gave him a headache.

The pain suddenly ceased, leaving a spot of throbbing soreness on his forearm. The plump nurse studied her progress, Draco’s gaze following her own as she scanned his forearm. The mark’s twisted serpent and gaunt skull remained as starkly black as ever; it didn’t look the slightest bit different! All that pain…for nothing?! Hot rage flooded through him and he sprung from his stool, sweeping up his robe in the process.

“Mr. Malfoy! We’re not-” Pomfrey started, but he was already storming toward the exit. 

“I’m done! I will not sit here and be tortured for the rest of the school year because you lack the skill to free me from this-” as he threw open the door he ran directly into a body, stumbling back. Books hit the floor with a loud clatter, landing in a messy heap.

“Malfoy! I’d highly encourage you look where you go before you dash out into the hallway like a madman.” Hermione Granger huffed at him as she smoothed down her robes and attempted to collect herself.

“Fuck off, Granger,” he snarled and pushed roughly past her. Hermione glared at his back as he retreated. Her face burned with a mixture of rage and embarrassment as she collected her books from the dusty stone floor.

“Oh dear,” Madame Pomfrey sighed and moved to help Hermione pick up the rest of her books. “Looks like it’ll be a rough couple of months with Mr. Malfoy.” 

Hermione glanced sharply at the kind-faced woman. 

“What do you mean? Why do you need Malfoy for a few months?” She asked.

Pomfrey’s mouth drew into a tight line. She had already said too much. “That is for Dumbledore and I to know, Miss Hermione.”  Hermione’s brain began working overtime, trying to think of any reason as to why the pureblood prat would need to visit the infirmary for any reason. Was he sick? He looked fine. Terminally ill? Impossible, his parents would never let him be treated by a school nurse. He’d be in Saint Mungo’s, being treated by the best doctors money could buy.

Her mouth opened, her head overflowing with questions when Madame Pomfrey cut her off: “Now, what did you need from me at this hour of the night?”

Hermione suddenly remembered her original mission; the books in her arms felt as though they weighed two tons. Her cheeks burned as she spoke up. 

“I was wondering if I could ask you about something,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the hallway, wary of any eavesdroppers. “Something...personal.”

A knowing look dawned on the elderly woman’s face. She smiled and gestured for one of her favorite students to follow her into the infirmary as she walked to her desk. 

“I’m assuming this is about your cycle,” Pomfrey said, lowering herself into her seat as Hermione delicately settled onto the very edge of the wooden chair across the desk. She quickly nodded in confirmation. She couldn’t help the blush from creeping down to her neck; she’d never been one to discuss such things so openly. Ginny and the other girls on the quidditch team had had no qualms, brazenly complaining about cramps and ruined undergarments... but for some reason she simply  _ couldn’t.  _

She took a long look at the woman across from her, with her kind eyes and her fluffy grey hair; Madame Pomfrey had always reminded Hermione of her Grandmother. So, she told herself, she had no reason to feel uncomfortable talking about this. This woman had undoubtedly given womanly advice to hundreds and hundreds of girls over her numerous years at Hogwarts.

“My cycle is highly irregular,” the brown haired witch said, “sometimes I can’t even get out of bed due to severe cramps, or I nearly pass out on my way to class because of blood loss.” She fiddled with the end of her skirt, forcing herself to look Madame Pomfrey in the eye. “My mother and Molly Weasley have taken me several times to St. Mungo’s over the summer, and regardless of the potion, enchantment, or spell they prescribed, nothing worked.” 

The woman listened intently as Hermione recited all of the Medical Aurors she had visited by heart, as well as the specific prescriptions given to her. As Hermione reached the end of her lengthy list, a thought occurred to the older witch.

“And what about muggle medicines?” She asked, “I hear they have a pill that’s nearly as effective as our potions.”

“We have also tried that. I assure you, nothing seems to work for me,” Hermione sighed in frustration and leaned back in her seat. She gestured to the stack of textbooks on the desk. “I’ve been spending hours studying these and researching everything that I can in order to attempt to create my own form of magical birth control. Perhaps something specific to my hormones and my body. I can’t keep missing class because my reproductive glands are out of sorts, it is unacceptable. My marks will suffer!”

Madame Pomfrey couldn’t help but smile. “I doubt that your grades will ever know true suffering, Miss Granger. Top of your class, brightest witch of your age, and not to mention… Hogwarts Head Girl!” 

Hermione’s insides warmed at the praise, as they always did. A smile tugged at her lips. “Nonetheless,” she continued, “I'm tired of falling ill and being held back by my own body’s ineptitude at being a proper body. That's why I was wondering if you would help me brew my own potion. If you would be willing to help me- that is. I just simply wouldn't want to come to anyone else but you for this.”

A wide smile stretched across the older woman’s face. “Of course, dear. We can meet however often you need in order to fix this. Although we will have to meet at night, since such potions can only be brewed in moonlight.” 

Hermione could have jumped for joy and thrown her arms around the sweet nurse. 

“However my dear, I do have to wonder if you're so passionate about this because you have a special boy you want to spend time with-”

“Madame Pomfrey!” Hermione squealed in horror. 

“I'm only teasing, Miss Granger, only teasing.”

* * *

 

A week later, Draco Malfoy found himself on the same stool with the same nurse hunched over his dark mark, muttering the same incantations under her breath.Oh and also, of course, the same bloody pain. He clenched and unclenched his fist in a vain attempt to dull the bite. 

He wanted nothing more than to go back to his dormitory. He wished he could simply tell her that he had better things to do, but that would be a lie. His friends had turned their backs on him after he betrayed the Dark Lord; he was alone...he didn’t even have quidditch anymore. All he could do was focus on his homework and wander the hallways and passages of the castle. The dungeons, which had once felt like his home, felt claustrophobic and cold those days. 

He was more silent this time around, only mutedly hissing in pain when Pomfrey was particularly aggressive with her wand-work. After it was over, he trudged to the exit without saying a word to the older witch.

When he opened the door he was surprised to discover Hermione Granger waiting just outside. At first glance, she struck him as awkward and quiet, not like her normal insufferable self at all. She avoided his gaze, as if he had caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. It occurred to him that this is the second time he had ran into her here, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“What are  _ you _ doing here, Granger?” He asked coldly, studying her appearance for some hint of her purpose. Her hair seemed only slightly disheveled, a few strands having escaped her hair tie to hang loosely by her face. Draco caught himself wondering how long she had been wearing it tied back before reminding himself that he did not in fact care.

“Why does it even concern you, Malfoy?” The brown-eyed girl snapped, drawing him out of his speculations.

“It doesn’t,” he retorted, rolling his eyes as he stepped past her and into the corridor.

“And what are you doing here, Malfoy?!” Hermione called after him.

“Why does it even concern you?” He mocked, not bothering to look back at her. 

Bollocks, he had her there. She huffed and spun on her heel, deciding she wasn’t going to spend another second thinking about Draco Malfoy. It was a waste of time. 

As she entered the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey glanced over at her warmly, calling out a greeting as she removed a cauldron from her storage closet for their brewing session.

“Ready to get started?” The nurse quipped.

Pushing all thoughts of certain blonde haired Slytherin boys from her head, the brightest witch of her age rolled up her sleeves. “Ready!”

* * *

 

The second Draco stepped into the dungeons’ common room, all conversation ceased. Ignoring the glares from the scattered Slytherins doing homework in the green silk chairs and couches, the young Malfoy strode to his chambers; he was exhausted. He despaired at the idea that every single healing session would drain him like this; he didn’t think he could take feeling so weak. It’s pathetic, he thought vehemently... _ He _ was pathetic. Sometimes he wondered if it had really been the better decision to turn himself in to Dumbledore. He had lost everything that mattered to him because of it. Everything that made him who he was.

He collapsed onto his bed covering his eyes with his hands as he emitted a long sigh. What a shite day. What a shite  _ year.  _ The only part of his day that had retained some semblance of normalcy was his argument with Granger. Potter and all of his tosser friends still hated Draco, which felt oddly comforting... like the last year hadn’t happened at all. 

A question nagged at him once again: why had the absurdly uptight gryffindor girl been there at the same time as him for the second time in a row? It was probably nothing, just a coincidence. If anything, it had made him feel almost good to have the opportunity to verbally accost her. 

He couldn’t wait for the end of the school year. Away from Madame Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Potty, Weasel, and  _ Granger.  _ He wasn’t sure where he would go, but he was sure it would be far, far away from this wretched place. 

* * *

Hermione studied her reflection in the mirror. It had been nearly a month since she began taking her own potion to regulate her period. Her skin had definitely cleared up; the odd pimple that would curse her complexion was nowhere to be seen! In fact, she felt as though she was glowing from the inside out. In terms of pain, her cramps had become blessedly mild. The only problem was that there was even  _ more  _ blood. She hadn’t even thought it would even be possible!

Frustrated and feeling like all of her progress was taking three steps forward and two steps back, she made her way down to the infirmary. 

As she rounded the corner, she got a whiff of something peculiar. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasantness; it smelled like something was burning! As she got closer to the large doors, she noticed that they were open a crack. Unable to contain her curiosity, she edged closer to see inside. 

She spotted Draco through the opening, as a small part of her had suspected she would, but instead of receiving a weekly potion like she had begun to think he would be doing, he was holding his arm out to Madame Pomfrey, who was bent over it with her wand out. This confused Hermione greatly. She had begun to accept the idea that Draco was sick. After all, he walked around like a ghost most days, pale and gaunt. Even his eyes looked less blue… Most worryingly, the only times he tried to antagonize her these days was when they inevitably crossed paths outside of the infirmary. But this….this made no sense. What on earth was she doing to him? His leg was bouncing up and down as he glanced at the watch on his free arm. 

She wished she could see what Madame Pomfrey was doing to Draco’s arm with her wand! As she inched closer, straining to see more through the small crack, she stopped concentrating on balancing her sizable pile of textbooks. With a moment of sheer panic, Hermione tried and failed to correct the imminent collapse. She watched in horror as a few of her books cascaded toward the floor of the corridor, the health of their bindings for once the least of her worries. At the sudden and startling noise, Draco leapt from the stool, ripping his arm away from Madame Pomfrey and whirling to face the large doors. 

Hermione jumped back quickly, trying in vain to still her pounding heart and praying that Draco hadn’t spotted her looking. She didn’t know where this sense of urgency and fear came from, perhaps it was the enraged look in his eye as he had spun around? She heard quick, heavy footsteps and knew a fight was coming. She felt the familiar weight of her wand on her thigh and briefly considered a quick Protego, just to be safe, but her arms were still full of books. She decided that her best chance would be to just play it casual, like she hadn’t seen anything at all.

One moment she was staring at the stone wall across from her, flickering orange and red in the torch lights, as she worked to slow her breathing. The next she was face to face with a furious Draco Malfoy, staring into his icy eyes framed by rage-knotted brows. 

“And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing spying on me, mudblood?” He was practically seething, spitting each syllable of the horrid name at her with venom that could surely rival a basilisk. She ignored the burn of his words as she once again tried to calm her racing heart. 

“You think you’re so special, don’t you, Malfoy?” She ground out, her anger overcoming her fear. “You think that the entire world is obsessed with you and every little thing that you do. Well, I have got some news for you: nobody cares about you or anything that you do, least of all me!” Her voice grew in volume as she reached the end of her sentence, the last word nearly a shriek as she clenched her fists tightly; she fought the urge to hurl her remaining textbooks at him, her high regard of their material only barely stopping her.

If Draco was offended by her words, he made no indication. “I know you think you saw something, Granger. I bet that’s why you just ‘happen’ to be here every single time that I am. Well guess what? I have nothing to hide.” 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “You sure act quite guilty for someone who professes he has nothing to hide. Why would you assume I’m spying unless there’s a reason to spy?”

Draco straightened up, regaining his composure. He looked down at her, regarding her as one would a piece of gum stuck to their shoe. Typically Hermione Granger wasn’t a violent human being, but if her hands were free she doubted that she would be able to refrain from raking her fingernails across the snivelling prat’s handsome face. Merlin, she hated him. 

“So then, why  _ are _ you here?” He asked snidely, “it seems far too convenient that you just so happen to follow me here every week without fail.” 

Hermione’s face burned a bright red--her mouth dropping open--unable to give a decent answer. There was no way she would ever tell  _ Draco Malfoy _ that she was there because of her menstrual cycle. After a moment of tense silence, the blonde boy nodded to himself.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, glaring at her menacingly, “stay out of my business, Granger.” 

With that, he spun around, robes billowing as he strode down the hallway without another look at her. Hermione sagged against the wall, feeling very much like she had just run a mile. This was most likely due to both the blood loss as well as the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. After allowing herself several long moments to breathe, Hermione pulled herself together as much as she could. She would tell Harry and Ron about this later, but now she had to focus on fixing this blasted potion before she hemorrhaged to death!

 


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy paced back and forth in his dormitory room, a certain muggle-born witch on his mind. How much had she seen? Judging by her reaction, he doubted she had really seen anything; if she had seen the dark mark, he’d be hexed to oblivion by now. She had only been suspicious, and he had charged forward like a blooming idiot ready to defend himself. That had only made him seem more guilty. 

He slowed as a troubling thought occurred to him: perhaps she was just biding her time, pretending not to know as she waited for the ideal moment to destroy him. What if she had already known what he was--or, rather, used to be? Draco thought for a moment. The only people that knew about his Mark were Pomfrey and Dumbledore. But Potter and Dumbledore were joined at the hip! Was it really so hard to believe that the old man would tell Potter? And then of course Potter would send the mudblood to do his dirty work! Draco ran his hands through his hair and tried to calm the hot whips of panic in his chest. He had made too many enemies in too many places. Not even Hogwarts was safe. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. He couldn’t keep going on like this; the healing sessions really took it out of him. Whether she already knew or not, Granger was onto  _ something _ . He glanced at his dark mark; thankfully it had begun to show some signs of fading over the past few weeks. It just wasn’t going fast enough! How was he supposed to focus on finishing his last year, on getting high enough marks on his NEWTS that anyone would consider hiring him despite the fact that his family were known death-eaters, with the bloody sigil of Voldemort on his arm? It just all felt so hopeless; even if Granger knew absolutely nothing, Draco was positively convinced that it was only a matter of time before she or somebody else caught a look and tried to kill him.

Draco Malfoy was undeniably in a pit of despair. He had done the right thing, turned himself in to Dumbledore; wasn’t being “a good guy” supposed to make him feel good? 

 

* * *

 

“I’m telling you, he’s up to something!” Hermione cried to her two best friends, as they  looked skeptically up at her from their usual place in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Harry shared a quick, private glance.

“‘Mione, you know I’m usually the first to jump on the ‘we hate Malfoy’ bandwagon, but the guy just lost his father to Azkaban…” Ron said, unusually calm. Hermione gaped at him, bewildered.

“He doesn’t really look like he’s up to something,” Harry agreed slowly, knowing disagreeing with his best friend was very much like tip-toeing around a sleeping dragon, “He looks like a sad 18 year old boy who has lost a lot.”

“After years of being overly aggressive towards the prat,  _ now  _ you’re growing a conscience!?” The muggle-born witch spluttered. “What on earth are you two saying? Do you hear yourselves?!” 

“He’s as pale as Nearly Headless Nick! He’s skinnier than Ron now!” 

“Hey!” Ron cried out indignantly.

Harry ignored his offended friend, continuing, “he hasn’t tried to say anything to either of us since the start of the year. Not a single word. ‘Mione… maybe you’re just seeing things that aren’t really there?” Harry said this softly, but she couldn’t help but hear the condescending tone in his voice. Angry tears burned in her eyes. These were her best friends! They were always supposed to have her back! 

“I’m going to bed,” she snapped and fled the room before she could cry in sheer frustration. Thankfully, the Head Boy and Head Girl dormitories were in a completely separate area of the castle. She wanted to be as far from Harry and Ron as she could be. She couldn’t believe they weren’t taking her side!

* * *

 

Hot, angry tears burned down her face as she climbed through the portrait into the common room that she and the Head Boy shared. 

Blaise Zabini looked up from his textbook at the sound of the portrait door slamming shut. At first she had been wary about a Slytherin Head Boy, but after a week of living peacefully with him, she felt guilty that she had ever doubted him. Not all Slytherins are bad. A vision of icy blue eyes flashed in her eyes. Well...she thought, some Slytherins are  _ really _ bad…

But Blaise was not one of them. They weren’t close friends, per se. They were more like colleagues with a delicate balance of mutual respect. They were both at the top of their classes, ran school functions with ease, and proficiently organized the prefects of all years.

“Granger? Why are you crying?” Blaise asked, seeming much more curious than sympathetic. He hadn’t seen Hermione Granger cry since the Yule Ball, when he had passed her on the stairs with just a pitying glance thrown her way. 

“Oh, Blaise. It’s nothing,” she paused her trek to her room to regard her roommate. She wiped at her tears. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t really buy that it was nothing, but he shrugged and easily replied “Studying for the Charms exam tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow?” Hermione cried, shocked, “I completely forgot!” 

“That’s not like you.” He commented. 

“I know. I’ve been off lately.” She sighed and ran a hand through her chestnut locks, a far cry from the bushy mane that adorned her head her first few years of school. 

“Maybe you should get some sleep?” He supplied helpfully. The young witch nodded slowly, many things on her mind.

“Goodnight, Blaise.” She said, smiling softly at her roommate. It felt good to have someone who seemed to be on her side, even if it was just a colleague looking out for her health.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he replied and went back to his book. 

As Hermione flopped into bed that night, she realized she couldn’t lay on her stomach; the pain and discomfort in her breasts was just too much. Probably just a side effect of the last batch of potion she made. She groaned. This potion-making endeavour was turning out to be a lot more difficult than she had previously thought. As she was nodding off she made a mental note to get them checked with Madame Pomfrey. 

* * *

 

“Have you seen Hermione Granger lately?” a 6th year Gryffindor asked her friend as they walked past Draco Malfoy. He rolled his eyes, he felt he couldn’t escape that muggle-born nuisance no matter where he went. 

“Yes! She looks absolutely brilliant! I’m so jealous of her complexion, what spells do you think she uses?” The Hufflepuff girl replied and Malfoy had to stifle the urge to tell them to get their heads out of their arses. Girls and their trivial conversations made him want to stay single forever. 

“Oh please, she’s obviously had work done,” another Gryffindor chimed in, “Have you seen her boobs lately? There’s no way they’re real.” That gave Draco a start, what on earth were they talking about? Granger with curves? He could almost laugh; she was and had always been built like a 12 year old boy. 

“You’re just jealous, Lavender. Don’t be nasty,” the Hufflepuff admonished and Draco wished they would _ walk faster for Merlin’s sake. _ He didn’t want to be late to class.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope I can corner her and ask her where I can get my hands on whatever she's using too,” the other Gryffindor sighed as they disappeared into the Herbology Classroom. At the use of the word cornered in the context of Hermione, Draco was suddenly reminded of his little problem with her. She was definitely spying on him, even after he told her to stay out of his business she was still there outside the infirmary without fail every single week. Just the thought of her exposing him to the whole school made his palms sweat and his feet turn cold.

He had to discover once and for all what on earth she was discussing with Madame Pomfrey after his healing sessions. His mind began churning out a plan as he made his way up the winding stairs to the astronomy tower.

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy knew full well when Madame Pomfrey’s lunch break was, so he made it a point to drop in when she was gone. 

“Madame Pomfrey?” He called as he pushed open one of the large oak doors, mostly just for show. There was no answer. Perfect. He strode to the back of the room with confidence. A few weeks prior he had started to notice that as he left the infirmary Pomfrey would always be digging around her back cabinets, presumably to find something for Granger. 

He threw open the back cabinets and despaired when he saw hundreds of little vials with various ingredients. This wouldn’t help him at all. What was he even looking for? As he made his way through the different compartments, something caught his eye in one of them: piles of important looking scrolls were stacked high on the shelf. Draco caught a glimpse of the handwriting on one that was slightly unrolled. Prim and proper, looking just like handwriting he would expect a certain Gryffindor girl to have… He snatched a few scrolls from the top of the pile and brought them over to the older witch’s desk. 

What were these? Notes about him? As he scanned the scrawled lines, he realized it had nothing to do with him. 

  
  
  


_**Birth Control Potion: Third Trial** _

_**Base potion ingredients:** _

_**~Fluxweed: Ground, one ounce and two scruples (for regulation of hormones)** _

_**~Dandelion Root: Powdered, two drachms and one scruple (for timing)** _

_**~Valerian Sprigs: Powdered, five drachms (to calm and distract the body)** _

_**~Silverweed: Finely ground, one drachm (for cramps)** _

_**~Bubotuber Pus:** **exactly** **one drachm and one scruple (for complexion)** _

_**Test ingredient: third trial:** _

_**~Boomslang Skin: two scruples (may shorten flow duration?)** _

 

Draco Malfoy’s eyebrows narrowed. What was this? He was sure this was Granger’s hand writing, but this made no sense. Why would she need a birth control potion? And why would she need to make her own? He stood up in disappointment, even more unsure than he was before. Maybe these were Pomfrey’s notes on her own special brew. 

Annoyed and frustrated, Malfoy put the scrolls back in their place and realized he would have to take things a little bit further if wanted to find out what they were doing together--and the things they were surely saying about him.

 

* * *

 

“What’s your secret?” Lavender Brown whispered to Hermione as she sat next to her in the Great Hall. Dinner had just appeared on the platters in front of them and the excited chatter of the other students disguised Lavender’s question. Hermione looked at the curly-haired witch with confusion, a fork-full of potatoes halfway to her mouth.

“My what?” The young witch asked, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“What potions have you been taking for… you know,” Lavender said, making a suggestive gesture at her own chest. Hermione almost choked on her food. Of course she had known of certain…  _ areas  _ developing, but she had no idea other people would have noticed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried to say nonchalantly. Lavender didn’t look pleased with this answer, and to Hermione’s shock, reached a groping hand out towards her. Horrified as the other girl squeezed at her chest, Hermione slapped the offensive fingers away. “Lavender!” 

The other witch’s face twisted in confusion. “So they’re definitely real,” an unmistakably mischievous twinkle grew in her eye. “What’s your secret?” 

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears, and as she looked up from their spot on the table, she realized they weren’t the only two involved in the conversation. Dozens of girls had formed a tight circle, leaning in to eavesdrop. The young witch gaped at her fellow Gryffindors. 

“I’m going to bed, and I’d advise you all to keep your hands to yourself or I will take house points. Just because we’re both girls doesn’t mean it’s okay,” she said with a tone of Head Girl authority and stood from her place. 

“Okay, but what about your skin?” Amber Noel, another younger Gryffindor asked.

“And your eyelashes?” A different girl butted in.

“And your hair! It’s been so smooth lately!” 

“You can’t pretend like it's all natural.”

“There is no secret,” Hermione said, face burning. “Goodnight, girls.”

With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione Granger exited the great hall. She was humiliated. They hadn’t merely noticed, they had drawn attention do it in the middle of the Great Hall! During dinner! She climbed the stairs towards the infirmary, her face burning. Not only were they right about them seeming larger, but they also were very sensitive and actually  _ hurt _ . It didn’t feel the slightest bit  _ normal _ .

She hated to admit it, but maybe something had gone seriously wrong in the last batch of potion. What if she was seriously in danger? Her Aunt Susan had gotten diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago, so she knew it could be a real threat. Who knows what effects homemade potions might have on the delicate human physiology, Hermione worried.

Yeah, she’d definitely get them checked tonight, if only for her own peace of mind. 

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy had always excelled in potion making and brewing, perhaps because it was taught by his favorite teacher. He would have just made his own batch of Polyjuice potion, but he didn’t have a month to spare. Though his only remaining choice was to sneak into Slughorn’s office and rummage through his private stash, Draco didn’t even blink. 

In fact, the hardest part of the whole process was figuring out how to get rid of Pomfrey for an hour or so. Draco didn’t want to hurt her, of course, especially since she was the one helping him with his scar. This left him very few options, and he eventually decided on swiping some Sleeping Draught while he was in Slughorn’s stores. It was a bit tricky to slip some into Pomfrey’s tea when she wasn’t looking, but he managed it somehow during their scar session. His plan was to wake her up some time after Granger left, explaining that she had seemed out of sorts when he left so he had decided to come back to check on her, thus finding her asleep.

As he plucked a hair from the sleeping witch’s head, he realized how good he felt. He hadn’t had a reason to do much of anything lately. These days it seemed like everything he did was a defensive reaction, just the panicked movements of some prey animal as he tried to avoid getting found out. While this might be quite a bit illegal, at least it was something that he could do. 

He couldn’t wait to see the look on the mudblood’s face when she realized who he really  was when he caught her conspiring against him red-handed. Was he going a little too far to get what he wanted? Absolutely not.

 

* * *

 

When Hermione got to the infirmary, she was shocked to find it empty; every other week at this precise time she had run into a grumpy Draco Malfoy. The part that really concerned Hermione was that when she called out to her favorite nurse, she received no response. 

Assuming the elderly witch was only in the middle of a bathroom break, Hermione set her bag and books on the desk they always worked on. She collected the scrolls she and Pomfrey always used to jot down significant observations and notes. 

As she had suspected, Madame Pomfrey entered a few minutes later from the infirmary bathroom. She seemed odd. She didn't have her usual bustling air about her. She wobbled a bit on her heels. 

“Madame? Are you feeling okay?” Hermione asked, rushing to the woman's side. The nurse looked a little lost for words. “Are you sick?”

“Yes… Dear,” she said, her voice hoarse, “it seems as though I've caught a bug.”

“Do you want to call it a day and take time to rest?” The concerned younger witch asked. 

“No, no I'll be fine,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Let's just go on, um… As we normally do.”

“Okay,” Hermione said cautiously. If the nurse said she was okay then who was Hermione to say otherwise? “Did you skip your meeting with Draco today? Normally I see him on his way out.”

_ I knew it! _ Draco thought from within Madame Pomfrey’s form, they  _ had _ been meeting about him!

Hermione took his silence for a different reason, though. “Yes, I'm sorry; I know I'm not allowed to ask about him.”

This paused draco’s triumphant musings. Wait, what?

“Well, let's just get down to business, shall we?” The Gryffindor girl stated and settled into her chair. She dipped her quill in ink and scratched out an ingredient on one of the scrolls. “So it turns out that maybe Boomslang skin wasn't such a beneficial ingredient. I believe that's what triggered my new, heavier flow.”

It was then that Draco realized he had made a grave, grave error. With horror he listened as Granger spoke about her…. Monthly times. She really had been making her own birth control potion. He wanted to run away screaming, but he was in too deep. Hermione paused and glanced up at him. 

“Are you going to sit?” She asked, completely oblivious to his discomfort. He simply nodded and settled himself into the seat opposite of her. He was certain he was blushing, but hoped Madame Pomfrey’s complexion wasn't so obviously telling of embarrassment as his own was. He watched in dismay as she pulled out a little vial of liquid from her bag and threw it in the rubbish bin next to the desk. 

“Looks like we have to start over,” the Gryffindor sighed. Draco felt so foolish. How could he have assumed some goody-two-shoes like Hermione Granger could be plotting his demise? She wouldn't even hurt a fly.

“I think we should continue this next week, actually,” he said in Madame Pomfrey’s voice. He hoped he didn't sound as mortified as he felt. Hermione looked up at him in disappointment. “I just, don't feel well enough to do this after all.” 

Hermione bit her lip in an attempt to hide her disappointment. She was such an open book. As she was stowing the scrolls away for next week, she paused. Draco sat still, unsure of what to do and not willing to take another unnecessary step in these god forsaken heels. 

“I actually need something from you that can't wait,” Hermione said not meeting his eyes. “Do you remember when I told you about my… Unusual breast development?” 

Draco choked and had to cover it up with a cough. He had heard the rumors but had assumed they were just that… Rumors. 

Hermione didn't wait for an answer. “Well, they haven't stopped growing. In fact, they’re quite painful these days. And--well my family has a history of breast cancer.” 

A horrifying realization dawned on Draco as she took a deep breath. Her face burned a bright red.

“I was wondering if you could examine them and make sure they're okay? That I'm not in any danger?” Hermione asked, eyes averted to the floor. She was already reaching to unbutton her blouse.

_ Oh _ , Draco thought,  _ bloody hell. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

Draco couldn’t believe what he had gotten himself into. Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, top of her class, and insufferable know-it-all, was disrobing right in front of his eyes.  _ Granger, no! _ He should have cried,  _ I’m actually Malfoy! This was all a huge misunderstanding! For the love of Merlin keep your shirt on.  _ But fear and something else, something that he wasn’t willing to acknowledge, kept his mouth sealed shut. 

He watched as she shrugged off her black robe, draping it on the frame of the nearest cot. She was babbling away about something, but Draco felt as though there was cotton in his ears. His hands started to sweat as the rest of her buttons came undone, one by one. What was he doing?  _ Say something Draco,  _ he pleaded to himself,  _ soon it’ll be too late. _ But his eyes remained fixated on her slender fingers working her torso free from her school issued uniform.

He definitely did _ not _ want to see _ Hermione Granger _ topless. As her white blouse began to slip down, he could see the cotton fabric of her lilac bra. He wondered vaguely if this was one of those weird, sexual dreams he would have on occasion. He once had one of Millicent Bullstrode, who he had no attraction to whatsoever, so he knew full well he could logically have one of the mudblood Hermione Granger. 

As the last button came undone and she shrugged her way out of that garment too, Draco realized the severity of the situation. He was going to have to give Hermione Granger a breast exam! 

Thankfully she stopped undressing and settled into the stool that Draco typically sat in for his weekly healing sessions, wearing nothing but her skirt and bra. It was a simple and conservative piece of clothing, covering more than a bikini would, so he had no idea why he was so nervous. He realized she was looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, yes,” Draco said through Madame Pomfrey’s lips as he got up from his place. “Sorry, dear.”

“It's okay,” Hermione mumbled, “I know you do this every semester for the older girls, but I didn't want to wait until then.” 

Draco felt as though he was floating over to the stool where she sat, his high-heeled feet stepping inexorably closer. He had no idea they did breast exams every semester. Crabbe and Goyle would have been livid to hear such news. Those two oafs would have done anything to see their classmates topless. 

As he got closer he could see how smooth her skin was. It was pale and clear, and her collarbones had an elegant curve to them. The thought made him stop. What was he thinking? This was bushy-haired loud mouthed Hermione Granger. He didn't care what she looked like in a bra, although... even with it on he could tell that the rumors were true…

“You said they were sore?” Draco asked, struggling to play the part of a concerned nurse. 

“Yes, I can't even lie on them at night,” she sighed and reached behind her back with both hands. “Sorry I know I have to take this off too, but it's cold and I wanted to wait until the last minute.” 

Draco’s mouth went dry and he looked sharply away as the bra came falling to her lap. _ I do not want to see Hermione Granger topless.  _ He heard it land on the cot next to them and his heart thundered in his chest. 

He was going to have to look or she would notice he was acting strange and he would have to explain why and she'd realize who he really was and he'd be hexed so violently his grandchildren would feel it… Horrified at the turn the night had taken, Draco snapped his eyes to her chest before he could change his mind or make it even weirder.

Regardless of any animosity he felt towards the Gryffindor, Draco couldn’t help but notice how alluring she looked. Waves of chestnut hair flowed perfectly down her shoulders, stopping just above her breasts. Draco was relieved that they weren’t disfigured (how was he to know what she meant by “unusual breast development?”), and he had of course seen a girl’s breasts before, but Pansy Parkinson simply couldn't compare in terms of attractiveness. As Draco collected himself, his gaze was drawn to Hermione’s face. Her fine, soft features were drawn tight with worry as she stared at the floor of the infirmary, prompting him to remember why she was shirtless with a pang of guilt.

Realizing he was staring quite a bit longer than could be considered professional, he reached out a shaking hand towards her chest, determined to get this over with for both of their sakes. As he took her breasts in his hands, his heart racing faster than he would ever admit, he summoned every bit of knowledge that he had ever even half-heard about breast examinations. He recalled that the objective was to find lumps, which seemed easy enough. Breasts were rather soft, after all, and he expected that anything out of the ordinary would stand out. 

He began to manipulate the breasts with his hands, attempting to detach himself completely from the action. He had almost managed to fully assumed the mentality of a doctor when his thumb brushed her nipple, causing a soft gasp to slip out of Hermione’s lips.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, a deep blush flooding her neck and the top of her chest, “I’m a little sensitive and… it’s rather cold.”

It took all of Draco’s willpower to calm himself, and even then he was entirely taken aback when he managed to choke out a “perfectly alright, dear.” From that point he worked more efficiently, trying and failing to tame his lust. He was breathing heavier now, hoping that Granger would just chalk it down to Pomfrey being ill. As he finished what he could only hope was a semi-thorough assessment,  _ oh Merlin let it be enough _ , he slowly drew back his hands, feeling far too many emotions to separate them all.

“Well,” he said in Madame Pomfrey’s voice, a bit more tightly than intended, “looks like everything is perfectly fine.” He turned around and shuffled through random things on Pomfrey’s desk as he let her put her clothes on in privacy. 

“Are you sure? There are no lumps or anything?” Hermione pressed.

“Quite sure. Time for me to retire for the night,” Draco said and was already retreating to Pomfrey’s private office. 

“Well, Thank you!” Hermione called but he didn't bother replying. He had to leave immediately. Fuck. He had never in a million years thought that this experience would have gone the way it went. 

And never in a trillion years would he have thought that  he’d have enjoyed it either. Merlin, she had been so soft-

No. He corrected himself. He had simply found himself in an unavoidable situation. If he had enjoyed it, it was purely because it was a pair of tits. Every boy with a pulse enjoyed touching them. 

He sagged into one of the large, cushy chairs in Pomfrey’s private office. What had he been thinking? He had been overzealous in this whole plan and now he'd seen and touched Granger in a way he had never planned on. He didn't think he could ever look at her in the same way again. He didn’t think he could ever look at  _ himself _ the same way again.

He groaned and put his head in his hands. What had he done?

* * *

 

 

As the portrait was still swinging closed behind her, Hermione Granger dumped her hefty pile of books on a table and slumped, face-first, onto the nearest couch. Her whole body melted in relief, sinking into the generous cushioning as she sighed. Blaise was relaxing by the fire, book in hand, and he raised his eyebrows at the uncharacteristic display of fatigue. 

“You're back early tonight,” he noted. With some reluctance, Hermione pushed herself up into a sitting position, the slight static from the couch making her hair a bit frizzy as it left the cushions’ embrace. Merlin, her days were getting crazier and crazier.

“Yeah,” she said, removing her flats to rub her sore feet, “thankfully. Now I can actually get some work done.”

“Why are you out so late these days?” Blaise asked, all of his attention on her for once. Hermione blushed slightly under his scrutinizing gaze. 

“Just helping Madame Pomfrey brew her potions,” she said, opting for a semi-truth. 

“That's very generous of you,” he said. “Any reason in particular?” 

“I've just been interested in medicinal remedies lately,” Hermione shrugged, she was eager to change the subject. “Have you been brainstorming a theme for the winter formal?” 

The dark-haired wizard nodded and reached for a piece of parchment on the coffee table between them. 

“At the meeting last night- which we really missed you at, by the way- between all of the prefects and I we narrowed it down to a Masquerade themed ball,” he said. Meeting? She must have forgotten, she had spent the entire night in the library, researching medicinal herbs. Guilt flooded through her. She had been so preoccupied with everything else she had begun to let her duties as Head Girl slip.

He handed her the sheet of parchment; on it were dozens of themes they must have come up with during the meeting. 

“Zabini, I'm sorry I wasn't there,” she said and put her face in her hands, ashamed. “It must have slipped my mind, and that is unacceptable of me. How can I make it up to you?”

He gave her an unreadable look before responding. “You can go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend,” he said, casually. Hermione’s head jerked up in surprise. She looked up at him, expecting a teasing smirk on his face, but there was no joking glimmer in his dark eyes. 

“You mean... as friends?” She asked cautiously, her brow furrowing slightly.

“As more.” He said, dead serious. Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest as the crackle of the fire filled the silence. Besides Krum, no one had ever shown any romantic interest in her before, let alone asked her on a date. Ron’s smiling face flashed through her head. They had… something... or they used to. Over the summer she had hoped that more would have developed, but nothing ever came of it. Ron never made a move; maybe he had never been interested and she was just imagining things. After all, he wasn’t really the  _ feeling _ type.

“I- Why?” She spluttered, struggling to meet his piercing eyes. 

“Because we make sense,” he stated and leaned back in his chair. “We're both top of our classes. We’re Head Boy and Head Girl.”

Hermione also leaned back in her chair, taken back. Because they “made sense?” That was…. very logical. And mildly disappointing. She took a long look at the boy across from her. From what she had gathered from their few months of living together she knew that he was intelligent, punctual, studious, polite, driven, and a natural born leader. Not to mention he was fairly good-looking. She hated to admit it, but they did make sense as a couple. 

She nodded slowly. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to go on a date with the slytherin boy. 

“Okay,” she said, letting her words settle on the tip of her tongue, “I'll go on a date with you.” It felt strange to say such a thing. Foreign in her mouth. 

Blaise allowed her a smile, which made her face burn even more. Okay. A date! She was a smart, functional witch; she could handle one date.

 

* * *

 

Draco couldn’t help the way that his eyes snapped to her as soon as she stepped into Charms class. He couldn’t help the way that he drank in her physical presence, trying to equate the girl entering through the door with the girl on the stool. She sat in her assigned seat two rows behind him to his right.

Perhaps she had sensed him staring, because as she pulled her textbook out her eyes flicked up to him. Horrified at being caught studying her, he looked down at his own charms book. He was scared she would say something to him. Merlin, the only time he had been scared of her before was when she had just punched him in the face.

Before he could delve into his newly rediscovered insecurity, Professor Flitwick wobbled into the room.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen!” He quipped, opening the curtains on the large, arched windows with a wave of his wand. “I hope you’ve all done your reading on  _ Quintessence: A Quest _ , because we have a quiz!”

With a collective groan, the class rummaged around in their bags for fresh pieces of parchment. Draco cursed inwardly; for once, he hadn’t done the reading. Trying not to think about a certain witch had occupied an alarming amount of his time.

In the middle of scrawling out an answer on the wand movements of a warming charm, a note- folded magically into the shape of a butterfly- landed on his parchment. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he unfolded the butterfly and read the scrawled text inside.

 

_ “You and me, drinks at Hog’s Head this weekend?” _

 

Alarmed, Draco looked up, searching for the person who had sent it. His eyes landed on Cormac McLaggen sitting several rows in front of him, who was shaking his head wildly at him. The Gryffindor mouthed  _ “For Hermione”  _ and pointed behind Draco.

Draco, sneering at the curly-haired boy, crumpled up the stupid sodding note and dropped it on the floor. Cormac glared at the Slytherin, and the Slytherin glared right back. Who did he think Draco was? Some bloody owl? He would never be reduced to a wingman, even indirectly.  _ Especially _ for someone pursuing Hermione Granger, of all people.

Seething, Draco returned to his test. All he wanted to do was go  _ one day _ without being reminded of the bloody “brightest witch of her age.” 

As the bells chimed, signaling the end of their class period, students began packing up and chatting with one another. Draco caught Cormac eyeing up Granger as she stuffed everything into her sack. He decided to take his time packing up, mostly because he wanted to see how the prim and proper muggle-born would react to being asked out for drinks. 

Pretending to be simply reorganizing his belongings, he listened as Cormac approached Granger.

“Hi, Hermione,” he said, the loud conversations of the class quickly fading as everyone trickled into the hallway.

“Hm?” She asked, a faraway tone in her voice, “oh, hello Cormac. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, funny you should mention that,” The curly haired gryffindor began and Draco held in a snort; the sod had no concept of subtlety. “I just wanted to tell you that I've always thought you were beautiful. Like, really stunning. And I was just wondering if you’d like to get drinks with me this weekend at The Hogs Head?”

When there was no response, Draco spared a quick glance over his shoulder to find a blushing Hermione. She was biting her lip bashfully in a remarkably familiar fashion. Draco had to look away, the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. He hated how the image of her topless form, blushing and gasping under his touch was etched into his brain forever. He didn't know how he could ever look at her again without seeing her sitting, lilac bra in her lap- 

_ Okay. Draco, enough. _ He scolded himself. He was just shellshocked and, honestly, a bit sexually frustrated. It was fine to recognize that she had been undeniably alluring, but to relive that moment again and again? Unacceptable. He simply  _ had _ to hold himself to a higher standard.

“Cormac, you've always been so sweet to me,” she said, stumbling over her words uncharacteristically. A silence hung between them and Draco stopped pretending to pack up and edged closer to listen in. 

“Why does it sound like there's a ‘but’ in there?” Cormac said, teasing, but with a hint

of foreboding. Draco saw Hermione smile sadly at the edge of his vision. 

“Because there is... I'm actually already going to Hogsmeade with someone this weekend.” And there it was. A nail in the proverbial coffin. He couldn't believe she would make up such a lie to get out of a date. He smirked and slung his bag over his shoulder. Merlin, she was so pathetic. 

Having heard enough, Draco passed them on his way out of the class. He made the briefest of eye contact with Granger. As she glowered at him he simply smirked in return.

Knowing that she would behave so awkwardly made him feel a bit better, somehow. Remembering that she was simply a low class muggle born with practically zero knowledge of how to behave in basic social situations gave him a great amount of comfort. 

 

* * *

 

Hermione’s head was spinning as she made her way from Charms to her Advanced Astronomy class. She had gotten asked out? Again? She had been asked on more dates in the last twelve hours than she had in the last  _ six years _ . What would Harry and Ron say? Merlin, she had forgotten about Ron. Her childhood crush would surely have a few strong words for her about going on a date with a  _ Slytherin _ . 

And why were all of these boys taking a sudden interest in her, anyways? Why now, at the most  _ inconvenient _ of times? She didn't feel any different. She supposed she looked a tad different, but she would object to the notion that she had been ugly before. 

To top it all off, Draco Malfoy had been staring at her for half of the class! Every time she would look up at him he would look away. Perhaps he really was up to something worth investigating? He hadn’t been necessarily pleasant to her the past few months but, Merlin, he had never… glared at her for an entire class period. 

Their last encounter must have really shaken up his confidence that whatever he was doing with Madame Pomfrey was being kept secret. And what was that smirk about? Making a mental note to corner Dumbledore and interrogate him about Draco the next time she saw him, she wound her way up the staircase to the astronomy tower for her next class.

 

* * *

 

“You're  _ what _ !?” Harry and Ron said in unison, both paused mid-bite. They sat across from Hermione at the gryffindor table, a mirrored look of shocked disbelief plastered on their faces. Ginny was with them too, but she had only a sparkling look of amusement about her. The brightest witch of her age scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, boys. You don't have to look so surprised. It's rather hurtful, actually” she admonished, pushing her steamed carrots around her plate. 

“Merlin, Hermione. We’re not surprised you're going on a date,” Harry said quickly, dropping his fork full of food. “Just that you're going on a date with a bloody  _ Slytherin _ .” 

Ron stayed silent, face turning progressively more red. Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

“Harry Potter, you know full well that Blaise and I have been working closely since the beginning of the school year. He is head boy, that means he  _ must _ have high marks, natural leadership, a stellar disciplinary record, and a strong sense of self. And don't you  _ dare _ tell me he’s a bad person just because he’s a Slytherin,” she snapped.

“She’s right Harry, just because someone is a Slytherin it doesn't mean they're a bad person,” Ginny chided, “a fourth of the school can't be pure evil.”

“Thank you, Ginny.” Hermione gave her friend a look of relief.

Harry thought for a moment. “At least it's not Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione relaxed a fraction and let a smile tug at her lips. A humorous response from Harry like that meant that he was more or less on board. Ron on the other hand, looked as red as a beet.

“Ronald, I-”

Without warning, he stood from his place and stormed away. 

Hermione watched him leave in dismay, perhaps he still had feelings for her after all? 

“Now you've done it,” Ginny said, sighing a little too theatrically as she began to help herself to Ron’s abandoned plate.

Her dismay turning into annoyance, Hermione shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement. “Honestly, I’ve just about had it with his--his nonsense!” She complained, “I’m not going to base every decision of my life on whether or not it will disturb his  _ delicate temperament _ !” She went on, pushing her plate away from her, “he has no right to make such a fuss every time somebody does something that he hasn't had the nerve to do!”

As she accidentally knocked over her goblet still half-full of pumpkin juice with a particularly brazen sweep of her arm, she looked around, realizing how loud she had grown. To her dismay, she found every Gryffindor within a ten foot radius staring at her with looks of shock and, in Lavender Brown’s case, some sort of twisted amusement. Feeling embarrassed and downright foolish, she excused herself. 

“These boys,” she whispered under breath as she quickly made her way out of the great hall, “they're going to kill me.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, friends! This chapter is beginning to feel like a truly different fan fiction. So many plot bunnies are being born. SAVE ME! I'm drowning in ideas! What do you guys think? There are so many directions I could take this fic.
> 
> I want to hear what you think! Leave a comment and leave me love! or hate. or a grocery list. i love it all


	4. Chapter 4

The brisk air nipped at Hermione Granger’s nose and cheeks as she made her way to the Hog’s Head. This was one of the blessed days where the students of Hogwarts got to escape the cramped quarters and dusty hallways for a resemblance of actual society. Hermione would never say this out loud, but she sometimes envied the students at public schools who could just get away every once and awhile. In the beginning of her years at Hogwarts she loved spending so much time there, but now it was getting a little stifling to be within the walls of the castle almost all year round. 

It had yet to snow, but the air still smelled of it. She grinned widely; if there was one thing Hermione Granger loved, it was winter time. She loved the sweaters, the hot cocoa, the snowball fights and flushed cheeks, spending afternoons cuddled up with someone special near a fire. Okay, maybe she had never really experienced that last one, but picturing it was  _ nearly _ the same thing. And what she imagined in her mind was close to heaven.  _ That’s why you’re doing this, _ she told herself. Perhaps Blaise could be her someone to snuggle close to as snow drifted down outside of the window.

When she opened the heavy wooden door of the Hog’s Head pub, a wave of warmth and noise washed over her. She unwrapped her scarf from around her neck as she stepped over the threshold, looking around in the comparatively dim light for Blaise. After a moment she spotted him by a window, sitting alone at a table for two. She caught his eye and he waved. Smiling, she made her way through the crowded pub to the wizard.

As she approached the table, Blaise stood. 

“Hermione, you look beautiful,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing the top of it. 

Hermione’s face bloomed a violent red. She hadn’t experienced such charm and forward affection since her time with Krum in her fourth year. Even then, the Bulgarian student was a little stiff and awkward. Blaise was no such thing; he was dangerously smooth. A proper gentlemen, yet simultaneously someone her father would warn her to stay away from. While the thought of bringing a wizard boyfriend home to her muggle parents seemed rather silly, it occurred to Hermione that it was something she would probably have to prepare for eventually.

“Thank you, Blaise,” she murmured, taking her place across from him as she attempted to use sheer willpower to return her face to its proper shade. It was strange to call him by the first name. They had referred to each other mostly by their last names for the last few months, not as a sign of disdain the way she had with Draco Malfoy, but as a sign of respect. It felt almost… intimate to call him by his first name.

“Would you like me to get you anything?” He asked.

“A butterbeer would be lovely,” she replied politely.

Blaise nodded and rose gracefully, making his way over to the crowded bar where Madame Rosmerta could be seen bustling from guest to guest and practically juggling flagons of butterbeer. With a moment to herself, Hermione managed to calm her burning cheeks. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, she reasoned with herself; he was just a boy. She had been living with him the last dozen weeks, for Merlin’s sake!

Blaise returned shortly with their drinks and a smirk, Hermione thanked him profusely and promised to pay him back.

“Nonsense. You’re my date and I asked you here,” he said and settled into his place across from her. As they took a few sips, the silence seemed to grow a bit heavy between them. Merlin, she had never been at a loss for words before, yet for some reason whenever she tried to come up with a conversation topic, her mind blanked. She should have brainstormed a conversation topic list before she arrived, she berated herself.

“So, you-” she began.

“How has your-” he said at the same time. 

The two shared an awkward laugh. 

“You go first,” she said. 

“Well, I was just going to ask how your meetings with Madame Pomfrey were going,” he admitted and Hermione resisted the urge to squirm in her seat.

“Oh, fine I suppose,” she said with a tone of finality, not wanting to expand on her response. “You haven’t told me what else you and the prefects talked about during the meeting I missed.”

As Blaise launched into an impressively well structured outline of the meeting topics, Hermione felt her mind wandering. She wondered what Harry and Ron were up to now; last she had seen of them they were heading to Honeydukes to load up on sweets. She was almost jealous, they had made this trip a thousand times but had always stuck together. Being with them was comfortable and familiar; being here, on a date with this intimidatingly suave boy was not.

* * *

 

Draco was sitting in an isolated corner of Hogshead, nursing a firewhiskey when she walked in. He wanted to contribute it to the alcohol and the shock of seeing her alone in such a place, but as soon as she stepped through the door his entire focus was on her. As she removed her scarf and jacket and placed them on the given hooks, he could see that she was clad in a navy blue button down overall dress over a black top, black tights, and black oxfords. Her hair was pulled back in a half updo, a few wispy strands escaping and framing her face in the most pleasing way.

Perhaps what stunned Draco the most was the fact that she was wearing a bit of makeup. Not too much, like some of her Gryffindor classmates, in his opinion. But just enough to highlight her natural features. He studied her enough these days to know that she almost never wore any sort of makeup.  

For reasons unknown to him, his heart skipped a beat when her eyes distractedly flitted by his little darkened corner. Was she looking for someone? What was she doing here alone, without Potty and Weasel?

She smiled at someone and made her way across the pub towards them. Following her gaze he realized who she was there to see. Blaise Zabini: top of Slytherin class, Hogwarts head boy, and Draco’s former best friend. 

Disdain coursed through him as Blaise stood up to greet the gryffindor girl. This definitely wasn't just a friendly meeting between head boy and head girl. This was a date. 

He’d had no idea that Granger was seeing anyone. The thought seemed so nonsensical to him he tried to reason why else they would be meeting alone in a pub, but no reason came to him.

His suspicions were proven right when Blaise brought her delicate hand up to his mouth to kiss. When on earth had this arrangement begun? 

He couldn't hear what was being said, but he could hear the soft laughter as it floated to his corner. It made him want to get up and leave, but he knew he couldn't without being seen. He just had to sit and watch two of his least favorite people go on a bloody date. Merlin, he would rather have put a campfire out with his face. Or sit through another bloody healing session with Pomfrey.

Once again, he was struck with loneliness. Why did he have to be here all alone while everyone else got to go around having a fantastic time wanking off with one another? Why did all of his friends abandon him while Granger made a friend every time she took a breath? What made her so special to everyone? Besides the fact that she looked fantastic without clothes, there was nothing else going for her.

He glared at her from his spot and wished she would notice him. He didn't even want to try to figure out why he wished for something so pathetic. He sat through the rest of their fucking little date, ordering one drink after another. He had hoped that getting tipsy would quell his anger.

That was his first mistake.

His second mistake was following them out of the bar and stalking them up a private path behind the pub. In his brain he had tried to justify such actions on him being merely curious on what such a strange couple would do on a date.

The path was windy and covered in brown, crusted leaves that crunched beneath their feet. He dimly hoped they would hear him and turn around. He could really go for a fight with Hermione Granger right about now. Maybe that's why he wanted her to notice him in the pub? Maybe he just wanted another punch in the face.

As they strolled up the hill they found a crumbling gazebo and they halted their progress. Suddenly struck with the fear of being caught, Draco ducked behind a tree trunk. He could still see the happy couple from his position, though. He could hear them too.

The gazebo must have once been painted a lovely cream color, but now almost all of the paint was chipping off and the wood was quite literally molding. 

How ugly, Draco thought.

“How quaint,” Blaise said.

Hermione watched in horror as he stepped onto the creaky bottom step. It bent beneath his weight.

“Zabini, no,” Hermione squeaked, pulling at her date’s jacket. “That thing must be seventy years old. It's not structurally sound.”

“Oh so I'm Zabini now, Granger?” The dark Slytherin teased, stepping onto the stair above. It groaned under his feet. 

“I'm sorry, _ Blaise, _ ” she stressed his first name, “now please come back down. I don't want to be the one to have to pull 100 year old splinters from your legs,” the pretty brown haired witch despaired. “Please.”

Draco rolled his eyes. She was such a do-gooder, if it was Draco he wouldn't even bat an eye. If the idiot wanted wood stuck in his calves, let the idiot get wood stuck in his calves.

“I'll come down if you kiss me,” Blaise said. Draco and Hermione both froze. 

A second after his shock disappeared, irritation flooded through the blonde haired boy. He had heard that same bloody pick up line from Blaise about a dozen times before. Yet it always seemed to work. He held his breath, his typically immaculate fingernails digging into the bark of the tree. Would the brightest witch of her age really fall for such a pathetic attempt at a pickup?

He watched in disbelief as Blaise leaned down and tipped her chin upward, and Merlin, she let him. He couldn't see their lips meet from his vantage point, but he didn't need to. He was suddenly painfully aware of where he was and what he was doing. Merlin, what was he thinking coming out here? Was he really that lonely and bored? 

Disgusted, he pushed away from his hiding place and stormed back down the pathway, not giving a rats arse if they heard or saw him.

* * *

 

Hermione would never admit it, but she had read quite a bit about kissing. After being so nervous about being pursued by Krum, the gryffindor had picked up every copy of Witches Weekly that she could get her hands on. In every issue there was an entire spread filled with dating advice. Now and then there was a column on kissing.

She was kissing Blaise, and although it wasn’t as great as so many of the magazines promised it would feel--there weren’t any fireworks or swelling music rising in her heart--it was better than kissing Krum. This kiss was soft and warm. It was nice even though it didn’t deepen and it didn’t last. She settled back onto her heels, breaking their contact.

Her face was positively on fire. She had just kissed Blaise Zabini. The second boy she’s ever kissed. Something behind them crashed through the foliage and Hermione spun around, already reaching for her wand.

“Relax,” Blaise murmured, “it was just a deer.”

“It must have been a deer with two broken legs then,” Hermione replied, not believing him for one second. There was something- or someone- out here with them. She looked at him and tried to smile, “Let’s go back, hm? It’s quite cold.”

“Scared, are we?” The young wizard teased and stepped down from the creaky old gazebo. He grinned. Hermione scoffed.

“I am  _ not  _ scared.”

She was scared.

Blaise raised one eyebrow in a sarcastically quizzical look. “Never fear, Granger, I will protect you from the evils of this sparsely wooded area.”

She laughed, dispelling a bit of her fear. With Lord Voldemort and his followers possibly lurking around every corner, however, she was understandably jittery. She really did want to get back to the main road where there were lots of students and teachers. She tugged on her date’s sleeve, giving him what she hoped was a flirty smile.

“Please? I’m just freezing,” she said and stuck out her bottom lip. “I wanted to pick up some new quills before we go back, anyways.”      

“Okay, Okay... I know how you get about your school supplies,” he winked at her and began their walk back down. He paused and turned around, holding a hand out. She stared at it uncomprehendingly. Was he asking for something? Was she holding something of his? At her look of confusion, Blaise chuckled. 

“We wizards call this ‘holding hands.’ I figured the brightest witch of her age would have figured that out by now,” he teased and Hermione was at a loss for words. Holding hands? On their way to the quill store? Everyone would see. Everyone would know they were a couple- or whatever they were. Was she ready for that?

“That’s alright for a bit, I suppose,” she mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush. Merlin, she blushed so much around him. 

With their fingers interlocked, they made their way back down the winding path. It was quite comfortable, Hermione realized, to hold hands with someone.

* * *

 

Whispers of their budding relationship echoed through the halls. No matter which house or which class or which year, it was guaranteed that Blaise and Hermione would come up in conversation at some point. Hermione had never seen anything quite like it, it had only been three days since they had their date, yet the entire school seemed to know about them. She could have sworn only about a dozen kids has seen them with their fingers interlocked on their way to the quill shop. Perhaps she had underestimated the velocity at which gossip travels through the ancient corridors.

Blaise didn't seem too upset about the entire student body knowing about their little date, but she supposed that was because he wasn't getting death glares from his rival house everywhere he went. It was fairly often that gryffindors dated outside of their houses, what was not common was for a Slytherin to be dating outside of their house. Every time she turned around, girls clad in green were cutting her with their eyes. She got the impression that those girls felt as though Hermione had stolen something from them.   

After a long day of avoiding being hexed in the hallways by a sea of raving girls, the idea of finding sanctuary in Madame Pomfrey’s office was next to heaven. She couldn't wait to get back to the normalcy of brewing potions with one of her favorite faculty members. 

However, this trip to the infirmary was different than her past trips. She had a warm body beside her, his shoulder bumping with hers as they walked. 

Blaise had understood Hermione’s need for privacy and her desire to keep any displays of affection between them private. They had both firmly believed that the rest of the school had no place in their relationship. 

Yet, as they rounded the corner into the deserted hallway by the door to the infirmary, a twinge of guilt tugged at Hermione. They hadn't really done anything like that since their first kiss. He had been such a gentlemen, giving her space and time when she needed it. 

“Hey,” she tugged on his sleeve before they finished rounding the corner. He paused and looked down at her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, a little concerned.

“I just wanted to thank you, for being so understanding about… you know,” she mumbled, eyes cast downward and cheeks aflame. 

“Hermione,” he said and she felt his warm hand cup her cheek. She looked up at him, studying his kind and handsome face in the flickering torchlight. “You don’t have to thank me.”

She smiled shyly and before she could lose her courage, she stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. This seemed to take him back, because he didn’t respond immediately.

But then he did, leaning in and deepening the kiss as his hands found her back and her hair. Hermione didn’t feel any sparks this time either, but at this point she didn’t care; the burning that was slowly growing in the pit of her stomach would do just fine. As their kisses grew slowly more intense they found themselves against the wall of the corridor. The pressure of the cold stone on Hermione’s back felt intensely pleasant as Blaise’s hand moved from her shoulder, to her waist, to her hip. She began to wonder whether seeing Madame Pomfrey was really _ that _ important; would it really be  _ so _ bad to make their way back up to their dormitories and continue this by the fire?

“Excuse me for interrupting,” a harsh, familiar voice caused Hermione to jump away from Blaise, mortified at having been caught. “Have you two no shame?” The voice sneered and and the owner stepped from the shadows. Draco Malfoy. Intense dislike poured through Hermione’s blood.

“It’s none of your concern, so I suggest you move on, Malfoy,” Blaise said cooly, wrapping an arm protectively around his girlfriend as they collected themselves. Hermione shrugged it off immediately. She had no intention of letting Draco believe that she couldn’t fight your own battles.

“You can head back, Blaise. I’ll talk to him on my own,” she said quietly, looking him in the eyes. Blaise studied her for a long while before nodding. He gave Draco one last withering look before heading back to their shared dormitories.  She was relieved he trusted her to handle him by herself.

“Glad to see you have even Zabini on your leash,” Draco hissed, “now he can join the rest of your pets, Potter and Weasel.” 

“ _ What  _ is your problem?” Hermione said, cooly. “I’ve seen you glaring at me everyday in charms. Now you’re harassing me with my boyfriend? I’m beginning to suspect that you’re obsessed with me.” 

“Ah, so the rumors are true, the head boy and head girl are shagging,” Draco grinned wickedly. “I can’t wait to let everyone know.”

“You will not spread such lies!” Hermione hissed. 

“Oh, you mean like the way that you spread your mudblood legs for-” the Slytherin couldn’t even finish his sentence before he had a wand practically up his nostril. 

“Fifty points from Slytherin for insulting the Head Girl and using foul language,” she spat, blood boiling. He did not cower in fear, the way she suspected he may have during fourth year. Instead he just looked at her wand pointed straight at his nose in disdain. 

“A reaction like that only confirms that it’s true. You are shagging-”

“That’s none of your business!” She practically screeched. “You will stay out of my business, Malfoy. Unless you want me to look into why you’re meeting with Pomfrey every week? Once I put my mind to something I never fail.” She was calmer now, her tone more deadly. “I’ll expose whatever you’ve been up to.” 

His expression darkened and in that moment she realized just how much taller he was than her. He loomed over her, and for the first time since their argument began, she was scared. He slowly brought up his left hand, pushing her wand lazily out of the way with the back of his hand.

“The next time you threaten me, Granger-” 

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before she had launched herself away from him. The next thing he knew he was suddenly and violently stunned. He crashed to the ground, stiff as a board. From the corner of his eye, he could see his petrified arm glowing in the torchlight. He hadn’t remembered to pull down his sleeve and his Dark Mark was standing out painfully obvious against the white of his skin, barely lighter than it had been the night he went to Dumbledore.

Hermione held in her scream. Draco Malfoy was a _Death Eater._ _A Death Eater!_ She trembled against the wall. A death eater in the school. He worked for Voldemort! She knew he had been up to something but never in a _million years_ would she have thought of this. All her life he had been a snivelling, foul, and loathsome prat… but she had never gotten the impression that he was _evil._

Dumbledore, she had to tell Dumbledore. Her breathing slowed as she formulated a plan to get to the Headmaster's office without being seen and causing panic. She cast a levitation charm on Draco’s petrified body. She silently began her journey, head still spinning from her newfound discovery as she carefully navigated the corridors, the motionless Slytherin in tow.

* * *

 

Draco had always loathed being stunned. He absolutely hated having no control over his body. He tried to fight his way out of the spell, to wiggle his pinky or open his mouth or anything. The magic was too strong. He watched the ceiling as he was carried through the school like nothing more than a balloon tied to a toddler. 

He wanted to hate her for this, to blame her and fight her, but he wouldn’t have expected  a different reaction. She reacted appropriately, and with a twinge of anger, Draco realized he was almost… impressed by the speed and strength of the spell. He supposed it had only been a matter of time before someone discovered him. He was probably lucky it was Granger and not Potter or Weasley, they may have killed him. 

Despite knowing the discovery of his past was inevitable, he still felt like such an idiot, he had heard their voices and had forgotten to pull down his sleeve from his healing session. The sight of Granger being snogged against a wall had wiped his brain clean. The way Blaise’s hand had crept from her waist down to her hip had entranced him. He could have never imagined that the goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger would let herself be touched like that, and he couldn’t help but remember touching her the week prior… when there hadn't been a layer of clothing between his hand and her--he stopped himself before his thoughts could spiral further. 

Maybe she really had been taking the birth control because she was sexually active… Bloody hell, she had been shagging Blaise this whole time.

Something halfway between disdain and lust had filled his body; he couldn’t bear to watch the scene for another second. He had spoken up and stepped from the shadows, having long since forgotten his exposed dark mark. He was such a fool. Now Granger would tell everyone in the school about what he had been branded.

His only hope was that Dumbledore would forgive him for being so careless and that the old man would be able to keep Hermione Granger quiet… if they could even get to the Headmaster’s office without some bloody first year spotting them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh DANG!! Is that what you guys expected?? Haha, maybe. I'm hoping you're enjoying this story and I'm hoping you don't feel I'm posting these updates too slowly. A shoutout to ObviouslyAnonymous for leaving me my first meaty response, which actually helped me decide the direction this story will go in! A big deal for me is to make sure that this fic is not too predictable, so I love to hear feedback on what works and what doesn't.
> 
> I hope you guys leave me a comment and tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione's chest heaved, eyes wild and hair loose from her clip; she had just finished her long-winded story, recounting how she had discovered Draco meeting with Madame Pomfrey every week, their arguments, their final confrontation in which she found his dark mark, and finally stunning Draco and sneaking him up to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had simply listened to her entire story, his blue eyes twinkling humorously. He hardly appeared to be as alarmed and worried as Hermione would have expected, given such outstanding and troubling circumstances.

"It seems as though our little secret has been found out, Mr. Malfoy," The old headmaster said and waved his wand, Draco floated to the ground and was broken from his magical binds. He groaned and rubbed his head, giving Hermione a glare.

"Headmaster, you don't mean-"

"Yes, miss Granger. I am well aware of Mr. Malfoy's unfortunate mark," the silver haired wizard said. Hermione's brain churned to a halt. Nothing made sense. How could Dumbledore be hiding a death eater in the school knowingly?

"But- why? Why is he here?" She asked, edging away from the Slytherin who was rising to his feet, wincing in pain.

"Because I turned myself in, you dolt," Draco sneered, massaging his limbs with shaking hands as the hex wore off. "I've been meeting with Pomfrey to get it removed."

She looked from Draco to the headmaster, confused.

"Is this the truth?" She asked. The old man nodded. For the first time since glimpsing the horrendous mark, her racing heart began to slow. She took a few deep breaths and felt painfully aware of how crazy she must have looked. She smoothed her skirt down awkwardly and tucked some flyaway strands of hair behind her ear.

Well, that would certainly explain what Pomfrey was doing to his arm that time she peeked through the crack in the door. She felt downright foolish for not having figured it out on her own.

She looked straight at the blonde wizard. "Well...I apologize for assuming."

Draco seemed taken aback at the apology, a handful of cutting and carefully prepared insults dying on his tongue.

"I think we owe miss Hermione an explanation, wouldn't you agree?" Dumbledore directed the question towards Draco, who nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Please, both of you, sit." He motioned to the chairs across from his desk.

Draco and Hermione glanced at each other, sitting so close after such a charged fight? Cautiously, with the same air as trapped prey, they settled into their seats, minds racing through their recent memories of the corridor outside of the hospital wing. 

Dumbledore studied his two students for a moment. "Draco, do you wish to share your situation or would you prefer to have me share it?"

Draco, arms crossed, stared hard at the bookcase behind the headmaster and didn't say anything. He knew it was childish, but he couldn't seem to open his mouth to respond.

"Very well," the wizard said, beginning his story with a brief recounting of Draco's parents being approached by Voldemort with the task of killing Dumbledore himself. Hermione gasped in horror and shot a surprised glance at Draco, completely astonished that such a plot could even be formulated. She felt her body begin to tremble again as he continued. They had been so close to war...the thought of the aged wizard across the desk ever dying, let alone at the hands of Death Eaters, filled Hermione with sickening dread.

"Miss Granger, are you okay?" Albus Dumbledore's voice drifted over to her. She breathed deeply and lifted her head back up. She nodded, blinking tears from her eyes.  
"Yes, I'm fine," she whispered, "please continue."

Draco, for the first time since they sat down, looked at Hermione. Something in her voice had startled him. She seemed… upset? Not just scared, but something else. He understood that she would have been frightened by the news that her beloved headmaster was almost assassinated… but, Merlin- were those tears?

"I know this is very distressing to hear," Dumbledore said, "that's why we decided it was imperative to keep it quiet. We didn't want the student body, let alone the wizarding population, in a panic."

Draco watched mutely as the brown haired girl wiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks. He had never seen her cry before. He had seen her face turn red in fury, her eyes grow wild in rage, but he had never seen a side such as this. The pain behind her eyes where the fire normally was...he didn't like it one bit.

"Now, about this fight between you two," Albus said, his voice hardening in a way that made them both sit straighter. "I understand why you felt the need to take physical action, Miss Granger, but you should know better than to use such a spell on a peer-"

"But, Professor, I thought-"

"Yes, we all know what you thought. Yet, I do not know why you think your head girl duties include hexing supposed death eaters and bringing them straight to my door. Are you an Auror?" Albus said and Hermione seemed to shrink in her seat. It was very rare that her favorite old wizard would use such a harsh tone with her.

"No, sir." She murmured.

"I understand your concern, but Hogwarts is not a battlefield; it is a school with rules. If you felt a student was a threat, I would expect you to report to either me or your head of house immediately, without pursuing a confrontation. If Mr. Malfoy had been a real threat, you could have been killed," he continued and Draco winced. He didn't appreciate such a violent idea surrounding himself, even if it was purely theoretical.

"I understand," Hermione said, eyes cast downward. "I rushed forward foolishly without taking time to think through my actions. It won't happen again."

Seemingly pleased with Hermione's response, the old wizard looked through his half moon spectacles at the young Slytherin. "And you, Draco. I do not believe you are completely blameless. I understand that you often provoke many of the fights you end up in, particularly with miss Granger here."

Draco wanted to melt into a puddle. Though he would never say so out loud, he had grown incredibly fond of the Headmaster during his period of redemption, and to hear such a negative-albeit correct-assumption from his lips made Draco's heart fill with shame.

"Typically, a fight between students requires a rather severe punishment, but considering you two are hardly typical students, I have something else in mind for you," Dumbledore said, his tone becoming more matter-of-fact as he continued, "Madame Pomfrey is leaving at the end of this term, and she will begin training a new healer within the next few weeks."

"Why?" The Gryffindor gasped, "is she okay? She seemed really sick the other day, is it because she's fallen seriously ill?"

Draco's heart skipped a beat as Dumbledore gave her a strange look. Oh, bloody hell. She was talking about last week when he had assumed Pomfrey's identity. He had pretended he was sick in order to excuse his strange behaviour.

"I'm not sure what you've heard, but I assure you she is in good health. She is simply retiring," he reassured his student. Her brows knitted in confusion, making Draco nervous that she would pursue the subject of her favorite healer being ill. Fortunately for Draco, the headmaster carried on, "With the added workload of training a new healer, unfortunately she will not have time to spare on either of you."

"But, Professor, my mark-"

"Will be healed by miss Hermione from now on," Dumbledore said and paused, allowing his two pupils to soak in the news. Hermione's mouth opened and closed, trying to formulate a response.

"Are you mad? She's not a healer, she'll murder me!" Draco said after a moment of confusion.

"That is very much a possibility!" Hermione agreed, nodding her head vigorously as her mind went through a particularly morbid lecture on backfiring charms that Professor Flitwick had given a few years prior. Draco looked at her in horror.

"Nonsense," the silver haired man waved away their concerns, "you are undeniably the brightest witch of your age. You achieve everything you put your mind to. And am I not mistaken that you have successfully created your own monthly potions from scratch under Madame Pomfrey's guidance?"

Hermione's face burned and she covered her mouth with her hand in horror. Draco looked uncomfortably away, knowing full well why she was so mortified. He still couldn't wrap his head around the idea that she was shagging his ex best friend.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Hermione choked out. She wasn't surprised that her seemingly all-knowing headmaster was aware, but she was still embarrassed. She hoped desperately that Draco hadn't heard the "monthly" part, and if he did that he didn't think anything of it.

"Then I don't see why you won't be able to pick it up in no time," he quipped.

"Wait a bloody minute, it's my body-don't I get a say?" Draco cried, trying desperately to get out of such a terrible punishment.

"This is the most opportune time for both of you to learn tolerance, patience, and how to get along with someone from another walk of life," Professor Dumbledore said with a tone of finality. "I will let Madame Pomfrey know tomorrow morning, and you will start lessons tomorrow night, Hermione."

Mouth drawn into a tight, stressed line, the Head Girl nodded. Draco despaired, he really couldn't get out of this. Fuck.

* * *

 

"Are you sure you're ready to retire?" Hermione asked as Madame Pomfrey bustled about the infirmary, organizing and labeling her potions for her replacement.

"I've never been more sure of anything, Miss Granger," the kind old woman said and smiled. "Don't look so scared. It's really not too difficult."

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. She wasn't so afraid of casting the actual cleansing spell that would free Draco from his dark mark, what she was afraid of was being in forced physical contact with the deplorable boy on a weekly basis.

Frustrated tears filled her eyes. Her head slumped forward, allowing her chestnut colored locks to cover her face. She didn't want to let the kind nurse see how much she was affected by this. She couldn't believe she had to do this. This punishment was undeniably one of the worst things to happen to her within the walls of the school. And she had been petrified, hexed, hunted by a troll, and even used as bait during the triwizard tournament.

She understood that deep down Draco must have had a conscience, as evidenced by the fact that he turned himself in. Yet she couldn't forgive the person that he was on the surface. She loathed how he knew the exact words to say to cut her, that he seemed to thrive on angering her. The fact that he had even gotten the dark mark in the first place or gone so long before coming forward with his knowledge of so many Death Eaters showed Hermione that she couldn't possibly trust him. Could someone with such an ambiguous moral compass ever truly work for the good of all wizarding society? Dumbledore must have seen something in him worth saving... And if her beloved headmaster felt that Draco wasn't a lost cause, she supposed she would have to trust him.

Draco had somehow found himself in front of the great oak by the Hogwarts lake. The night air was frigid and sharp against his face, but he couldn't bring himself to stay inside. The warmth of the castle walls just wasn't worth the chance of coming across Granger. He wished vehemently that he could just leave Hogwarts and never have to see her again, but this train of thought was quickly derailed by the idea of trying to exist in wizarding society with no allies and a dark mark on his forearm. He crossed his arms and leaned against the trunk of the tree, wondering fervently why he had been cursed with such awful luck.

Shivering slightly, he glared out at the water, the moonlight shimmering across the surface. He would have to spend  _hours_  with her every week! He had to be touched by her, healed by her...was this karma? Was this the universe finally getting back at him for all of the wretched things he had done?

The fight last night had definitely been his fault. He didn't know why, but he found himself quite unable to ever pass up the opportunity for a fight, especially with the uptight Gryffindor girl.

Bloody hell, he had hardly given her half a thought in the years prior, yet now she seemed to be the only thing he could think of. He couldn't keep going on like this, to give such an annoying prat of a girl so much power over his emotions...it was pathetic.

He blew warm air into his hands and decided he had suffered enough tonight. As he shuffled back to the school's entrance, he vowed that he wouldn't so much as acknowledge her presence any longer, even if she was standing right in front of him.

* * *

She was standing right in front of him, blocking his way out of charms class. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her face said that the Slytherin had a lecture coming. Draco couldn't believe her stony determination, why couldn't she just hide from him like any other girl would in her situation? Why did she have to be so damn confrontational? And why, for Merlin's sake, had he been negligent enough to allow them to be the last two in the classroom?

He did his best to look past the fiery girl as he went to walk around her, but she sidestepped-blocking his way once again. He was tall enough to be able to look right over her head, and decided that he wouldn't allow her a response. He would honor the promise he made to himself the night before and just wait until she moved. She was close enough that he could smell her shampoo, it was pleasant-not obnoxiously fruity or flowery like Pansy's-but more of a clean, warm smell.

"Don't think you're leaving this room without a much needed discussion," the Head Girl's voice rang out, snapping Draco out of his disturbing thoughts. He did his best to quell his anger and stand still as a stone. He would  _not_ let her get to him.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, and to his surprise, she poked him in the chest.  _That_  got his attention. He looked down his nose at her and watched as she spoke to his chest, either too worked up or too nervous to look at his face.

"Your comments were highly inappropriate and I demand an apology and a promise that you will not speak that way now that we have to… spend time together. I don't like it anymore than you do but we must at least  _try_  to be cordial and we can only do that if you  _apologize_ ," she said, poking him once more. Irritated that she believed she could just poke him as much as she pleased, he grabbed her hand.

Her monologue ceased and she looked up at him in surprise, brown eyes blinking. For a second, neither moved, they hovered on the edge of speaking and silence. It occurred to Draco that this was the first time he had ever touched her hand.

Hermione's skin was unbelievably soft and smooth, and her fingers felt delicate in Draco's hand. He had intended to release her immediately and send a few threatening words her way about never touching him again, but for some reason, he had stopped. Her lips opened slightly as her cheeks tinged a rosy pink, perhaps she was realizing just how close they were.

The bells chimed sharply and suddenly, signaling that passing period was over. The harsh noise seemed to pull the two of them back into reality. The Gryffindor pulled her hand back as though she had been burned and turned on her heel, practically fleeing down the hall.

Draco stood in the doorway, numb. He stared at his traitorous hand. What on earth had just happened? His fingers felt as though they were tingling, and he could still feel the imprint of her knuckles against his palm. He slowly closed his hand and stared hard at his clenched fist. His feet began to move him through the halls, but he didn't seem to have any say in where they took him. He couldn't understand what had gotten into him or why he had frozen up the way that he had.

He had managed to touch her naked _tits_ without going daft, for Merlin's sake, but the second he touched her hand he'd lost any common sense and dignity? He was beginning to believe that something was truly, deeply wrong with him.

* * *

"I don't like this," Blaise said and heaved a heavy sigh. Hermione hadn't told him the truth of the situation, just that she was being forced to tutor him. She had also positively left out her and Draco's perplexing interaction after Charms. She had no idea what had passed between them in that moment, and she had no desire to analyze it. It was too troubling to think about.

They were seated on one of the large, comfortable couches facing the fire. Hermione distractedly ran her fingers along his hand that was resting comfortably on her knee.

"That makes two of us," she responded, staring into the flames. She had begun to be fairly resigned about this whole thing.

"I can't believe Dumbledore would make you do this," her boyfriend said, shaking his head.

"I can," she replied softly. This was just the kind of intervention their beloved headmaster seemed to live for. Blaise apparently didn't know him as well as Hermione and her friends.

"I don't trust him," he said and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.

"No, Malfoy," the Head Boy responded. Hermione looked at him, thoughtful.

"Weren't you really close before?" She asked, studying his handsome profile flickering in the firelight. Draco and Blaise had been glued at the hip every time Hermione had come across them in the past years.

"We were best mates," The head boy nodded, he didn't look at his girlfriend.

"What happened?" She asked. His eyes hardened.

"I don't want to talk about it." He said a little harshly. Hermione leaned away from him, slightly offended. His hand slipped off of her knee.

"I should sleep," she said and pulled herself up. "So I can be well rested before I have to slay the dragon tomorrow." she had to meet with Draco to begin their healing sessions.

"Okay, goodnight," Blaise said, still not looking at her. He was obviously upset, but why?

She stared at him for a little, unsure of what to say. If this were Harry or Ron, she would just flat out demand that they tell her what's wrong, but she had a feeling that wouldn't work here. Romantic relationships were so strange.

"Night," she murmured and padded towards her room. A boyfriend, she realized, was a tricky thing to have.

* * *

 "Hello," Hermione greeted Draco Malfoy tightly. He didn't respond, he simply crossed the room, dropped his bag on the nearest cot, and planted himself in his usual stool. He didn't look at her as he rolled up his sleeve.

"You better know what you're doing," was all he said. Hermione's blood boiled.

"No, I have  _no_  idea what I'm doing. In fact, I've spent the last week being taught how to make enchanted cheese," she snapped and reached out, grabbing hold of his wrist. The Slytherin boy made it a point to ignore how soft her skin was. He would not have a replay of the day before happen again.

"Oh, wonderful. Can't wait for my forearm to be a block of gorgonzola," he snapped back.

"Cauteroma Morsmordre Exsculpo" Hermione began to chant in response, while simultaneously making a series of complex wand movements with each word. Each syllable of her perfectly pronounced incantation rang through the room, causing Draco's face to go immediately white with pain. Bloody hell, he had almost forgotten how painful it was. His misery was somehow worsened by the fact that he knew she was performing the complex de-branding process perfectly. If only she was terrible at magic or, even better, a squib who could never hope to be of any service to him-then he would have felt at least a bit more justified in his feeling of superiority.

He bit down on his tongue, refusing to react outwardly. He would never allow the muggleborn witch see how much pain she was inflicting upon him. He would sooner waltz through the hufflepuff common room in the nude.

"We need to talk about your inappropriate comments last week," Hermione eventually said, breaking through the tense silence. Draco rolled his eyes, not this again.

"No, we don't," He sneered. The last thing he wanted was to talk about this.

"We really do," she insisted, running her wand up and down his arm. He said nothing in response.

Anger flared through the girl; fine, if he didn't want to discuss his inappropriate language, perhaps she could pry other answers from him.

"Or we can talk about what on earth was running through your mind when you decided to allow yourself to be branded a death-"

" _Or_ we can talk about how you've been shagging the headboy like a mad rabbit."

Hermione's face turned a violet red and her mouth snapped shut.

"Once again, your silence speaks volumes."

The bright witch couldn't still her trembling hands as rage coursed through her blood. She cast the enchantment once again, but her anger seemed to increase the strength of the spell, "Exsculpo" leaving her lips like an expletive. Draco's face paled as blinding pain shot through his arm and into his chest. His vision tunneled.

"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, you are the most foul, rotten human being that has ever lived," Hermione spat, too busy hating him with every fiber of her being to notice when his arm went slack and his eyes slid shut. Draco's world went dark as the pain grew so intense that he was unable to maintain his hold on his consciousness.

"Stop moving like that," she snapped, trying to grip his arm tighter. She was stunned when he slid from her grasp as he fell backwards from his stool. Hermione stood, trying to grab hold of him, but he was too heavy and he crashed to the ground. Her anger was immediately forgotten and she rushed to his side.

"Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly, kneeling down. "Malfoy?"

There was no answer, and Hermione despaired. She reached out two fingers to press to his neck, feeling grateful when she discovered a pulse. But, still, he was so, so pale. What had she done? She had thought that she could handle the spell, but obviously something had gone gravely wrong.

"Madame Pomfrey?!" She cried, getting to her feet and rushing to the Healer's private study. When the Gryffindor girl threw open the door, Madame Pomfrey stood from her chair in shock at the abrupt interruption.

"Miss Granger? What's wrong?" The old woman asked.

"It's Draco! He's fainted!" Hermione explained, chest heaving. Pomfrey quickly made her way out of her study and into the infirmary, the Gryffindor close on her heels.

The healer levitated the unconscious boy from the floor onto the nearest cot. Easily slipping into doctor mode, the old woman peeled back his eyelid and flashed a quick Lumos from her wand in his eye.

"What happened?" She asked, studying the Slytherin's face closely.

"I don't know! I was casting the spell just as you said," the young girl replied, growing hysterical, "I told you I couldn't do this!"

"Please, Miss Granger," she tutted in response, proceeding with her brief examination of Draco, "He seems to be fine, he should wake up soon."

"Then why did he faint!? What did I do wrong?" Hermione wrung her hands as her mentor took Draco's pulse, watching the watch on her wrist.

"It a severely painful enchantment," the woman responded, "his body must not have been able to handle the strength of your magic." At that Pomfrey's eyes narrowed in Hermione's direction.

"I had no idea that it was painful, you didn't tell me! He didn't say anything! Why didn't we give him a potion to dull the sensitivity in his skin!?"

"Because the pain isn't in his skin," Madame Pomfrey responded, "really Hermione, you are much too bright to think that such a wretched scar is only skin deep."

Hermione paused, the idea that the mark was deeper than a muggle tattoo had never occurred to her.

"The pain comes from within Draco, somewhere no potion, remedy, or charm can reach," the old woman said gravely. "Mr. Malfoy has been hurt deeply, dear. In his soul."

Hermione gaped at the old woman and her gaze travelled down to the boy in question.

"You must go into these sessions with a tender and pure heart. How you cast the enchantment will affect its strength and negative effects," Pomfrey said quietly. Hermione found herself sitting at the edge of Draco's cot, staring into space.

"Are you okay, dear?"

"I don't want to do this," she said, shaking her head.

"It's a punishment for a reason, Miss Granger."

"But I've hurt him!" Hermione cried, motioning to the unconscious Slytherin.

"I hurt him as well when I did it, it is unavoidable." Pomfrey settled next to her favorite student and placed a comforting hand on her forearm.

"There's really no way to help him?" The girl asked, voice quiet. She rested her head on her teacher's shoulder. The kind old woman gave her head a gentle pat.

"My dear, this is the only way we  _can_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter! Finals and the Holidays thoroughly kicked my butt. This chapter is longer than normal, so I hope that makes up for the wait. I'm certain few of you knew where this was going, despite my desire to not let this fic be too predictable.
> 
> I've been rereading some of my old favorite dramione fics lately as well and it's funny to see how they've influenced my idea of what dramione should be. I hope my depiction of them and their situation is something you enjoy! I noticed that my Draco isn't nearly as prejudice as he can be in other pics, but I almost feel like that may be a welcome change.
> 
> Anyway, as always, if you liked it, hated it or felt that it was too predictable please let me know! It's so strange to have gone from my last fanfic, which had overwhelming support and responses to this new, baby fanfic which is just beginning to have readers. In retrospect, I was so spoiled, I got like 20 reviews per chapter, and now I get one and it's like CHRISTMAS! OMG! Hopefully I can update sooner than later this time! Thanks again for your support.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Draco Malfoy realized when he woke up was  that he was not in his bed, but in fact, he was in the infirmary. The second thing he realized was that he was not alone. Draco blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked at his visitor's face. When her delicate features came into focus, he was shocked to find Hermione Granger sitting at his bedside. She was watching him warily, biting her lip. 

“Malfoy, you're awake,” she sighed and everything came flooding back. The last  thing he remembered was her casting the enchantment one last time. Had he seriously passed out? 

“Bloody hell, Granger. What did you do to me?” The Slytherin croaked, throat dry and scratchy. He sat up in his cot and with a swish of her wand, Hermione summoned an empty glass and a pitcher of water.  She began pouring him a glass.

“It seems as though my magic was just a tad too… aggressive,” at that, Draco snorted. “I'm just relieved you're awake,” Hermione finished and held out the glass of water. Draco eyed it warily.

“Oh, for the love of- it's not poisoned!” She snapped, shoving it toward him. After a moment's hesitation, he took it and drank. She watched him down the entire glass.

“I knew a mudblood couldn't handle such a complex spell,” the boy sneered as he put the empty glass down on the end table next to him. Hermione couldn't believe how ,  even after all of these years , that  word still felt like a stab in the heart. 

“Oh, well, now I regret not poisoning you,” she quipped. Her tone was calm and cool, despite the fact that her insides were boiling with rage.

“I wouldn't put it above you, Granger. You're probably just itching to do away with me,” he snarled. He went to swing his legs around and stand up, but was hit with a bout of dizziness. 

“Madame Pomfrey says you must stay here for the night,” the Head Girl admonished, trying to remain level-headed. “You're much too weak to walk.”

“Madame Pomfrey can sod off,” he said, once again attempting to stand up. His vision tunneled and he wobbled on his feet. Fuck. He sat back down and promptly put his head between his knees. He prayed for the room to stop spinning. 

“I told you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Merlin, I feel like I've been hit by a  two ton bludger,” he groaned, muffled by his school robes. Hermione felt a twinge of remorse. She had really put him out of sorts. 

“Listen Malfoy, I'm really sorry. I should have been more careful,” she blurted, overcome with the need to apologize. She waited a few moments and he didn't respond. She took a deep breath.

“Madame Pomfrey said that my emotional state influences the strength of intensity of the spell,” the gryffindor said, “so, if we want to do this ,  and do it right… No more fighting.” 

Draco hated to admit it, but she was right. Him angering her had undoubtedly sealed his fate of passing out. Yet for some reason, whenever the opportunity to rile her up presented itself he had to take it. Perhaps it was his lack of social stimulation that pushed him to draw out such reactions from the Muggleborn girl. 

He used to have friends, a girlfriend, quidditch, and professors who liked him. Now all he had were his studies and his scar. 

And the girl given the task of healing it.

Draco could hear Hermione’s steady, patient breaths as she waited for a response. He felt trapped, like he had been backed into a corner to being civil towards her. He supposed he had better respond and he lifted his head from between his knees, his back was still facing her.

“Alright, Granger,” he didn't even try to keep the bite from his voice, “we’ll have it your way. In the meantime, you can fuck off so I can get some rest.”

He couldn't see her face, but he could hear her disgusted sigh. 

“I guess we’ll start being cordial next week, then,” she snapped. He watched her back as she snatched up her bag and left the infirmary. He did his best to ignore the wind that carried her warm and clean scent and the way her curls bounced as she walked.

He slumped backward onto the bed, putting his hand over his eyes.

* * *

 

“I can't do this!” Hermione cried, pacing back and forth in front of Dumbledore’s desk. The old headmaster watched her over moon shaped spectacles. “I know you say I can , but I can't! I almost killed him tonight! It was a complete failure!”

“Did you kill him, Miss Granger?” The kind old man inquired and Hermione slowed her pacing.

“Well, no-”

“Then it was not a failure,” he said, eyes shining. “I myself would call not killing someone quite a success.”

“Please professor,” she pleaded, gripping the back of the oak chair in front of her. “Please , please don't make me continue. He's terrible.” 

“How so?” He asked.

“He called me the M word again, and he told me to fuck off- excuse my profanity- and this was after I suggested we both put aside our differences for his well-being!” She cried and frustrated tears filled her eyes. “I'm done! I don't care if you put me in detention or take away my title, I can't be around him anymore.” She hung her head in defeat, letting the tears flow freely. 

“Hermione, I understand that you are upset- and you are rightfully so- but I believe that a good night’s rest may help clear your head,” he said and stood from his place, walking around to rest a warm hand on her head. The sign of affection made her heart clench. “If you still feel the same way tomorrow morning, we will find an alternative for both of you.”

* * *

 

Hermione was one hundred percent certain she would not go back to healing Draco. Nothing could change her mind. She had tried over and over to make amends with the Slytherin prat and over and over again he rejected her, calling her horrid names and using crude language. 

“What's the password?” the man in the portrait leading into her shared dormitory asked.

“Wattlebird,” she snapped. She ignored the offended look  that he gave her as he swung open. 

Blaise was nowhere to be seen, and honestly, Hermione was a tad relieved. He had been acting strange since she informed him she would have to “tutor” Draco. After fighting with Malfoy , the last thing she would want is to fight Blaise. The number of Slytherin boys getting into arguments regularly with her had exponentially grown in the last year and frankly, it was alarming. 

She slung her bag from over her shoulder onto the coffee table and made her way over to their little kitchenette. It was situated between their two rounded staircases that lead up to their private dormitories. She hadn't  eaten  dinner because she had had to finish learning that bloody enchantment for that bloody boy. Opting out for something quick and easy, she made herself a sandwich. Something light that she could snack on while she did her massive pile of homework. 

She was just about to move to grab her bag when a familiar  _ POP _ caused her to drop her impromptu dinner.

“Dobby! Merlin, you scared me!” She cried at the little elf, “You made me drop my sandwich!”

“Dobby did not mean to scare miss! Dobby only wanted to give miss a message!” Dobby said, wringing his hands together. Hermione knelt down and began picking up the mess, but his next omission made her freeze, “From Master Snape about Mr. Malfoy.”

The Gryffindor, alarmed, stood up and looked at Blaise’s door and back to Dobby. Snape was released from his duties as a Hogwarts professor on mysterious circumstances last year and essentially vanished. Hermione , and many others , believed it was due to the potions master’s questionable alliance during a politically tumultuous year. War was just around the corner, and everyone knew it. So it was only logical to assume that he was off doing who knows what for Voldemort. 

She held up a finger in a hush motion and led the elf up to her room. She shut the door behind her, and for extra measure she cast a quick silencing charm. 

“How on earth did Snape get a message to you? And why? Where is he? What's the message?” The head girl asked, kneeling to be eye to eye with the elf. 

“Miss asks too much questions that Dobby cannot answer,” he cried, holding up his wrinkled hands in surrender. “Dobby can only say that Master Snape says it is good that Miss Hermione is helping Master Malfoy, and that he has been hearing of Miss Hermione's potion making. He says that it is because of his lessons that she is making such things. He also says not  to give up.” 

Hermione was stunned into silence. Not necessarily by what the message said, but everything the message had left unspoken. Snape was still on their side. He knew that Hermione was healing Draco, and that meant he had a contact within Hogwarts. He had disappeared from the Order, and everyone had assumed he had betrayed them. But this, this implied something else.

A little breathless, Hermione stood up and rushed to her door. She had to tell Harry and Ron! She had to tell the Order!

“Thank you, Dobby!” She said and reached for her door handle. She almost smashed her face against the wood of the door when her hand slipped straight through the knob. Thinking she had gone mad, she tried again. Once more, the knob was there, but it wasn't. She couldn't grab it, her fingers passed right through. She snapped her head around to glare at the house elf.

“Sorry Miss. Dobby made a promise to Master Snape that Miss would not tell anyone about the message. It would mean bad things for Master Snape,” Dobby stood tall at the edge of Hermione’s bed, pointed chin in the air. “Dobby made a promise and Dobby does not break promises.”

Hermione groaned and turned back around, pressing her forehead against the door. She wanted nothing more than to shake the little elf and shout until he set her free, but her compassion for him kept her docile.

“Miss Granger must promise to not tell anyone,” he pressed. Hermione knocked her head against the door in frustration. So many secrets. So many important  things she had to keep from her best friends in the world. If she had one more secret to keep she felt as though she would burst.

“Why would you tell me something if I'm not allowed to tell Harry and Ron!?” Hermione tried to keep from her attitude in check, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“This is bigger than Miss and her boys. This is war between good wizards and bad wizards,” Dobby said, padding up to her and reaching a hand out to pat her on the back. “Please, Miss?”

The Gryffindor girl looked down at her little friend with his pleading gaze and his oversized clothes. Her heart squeezed.

“At least Dumbledore knows, right?” She asked, voice shaking. Dobby nodded.

“Okay. I promise I won't tell anyone,” she finally relented.

“And promise Miss will keep helping Mr. Draco?”

“Dobby!”

“Miss!”

“... Fine.”

* * *

 

“Jake and Alex, you're in charge of organizing the menu and seating arrangements,” Blaise Zabini said at the head of the prefect’s lounge. The two dozen prefects were scattered about; some were scratching notes into their scrolls, others who were more relaxed about their duties, were lounging, only half paying attention to their head boy and head girl. 

Ron Weasley was among the second half, balancing his wand on his nose, much to the amusement of Pavarti Patil. And at this, a flash of annoyance shot through Hermione; her back was aching and she hadn’t gotten any sleep in the last week and she just wanted to get this meeting over with. She just  _ knew _ that she would have to remind Ron of everything later.

“Elizabeth, Felix, and Penelope, you'll be with me for organizing and setting up decorations,” Hermione chimed in, pushing her irritation down. She read from the list the two of them had made that morning. The girls looked at eachother with giddy excitement. The entire school was buzzing with anticipation for the winter formal, the dreary, cold, and short days had been especially oppressive with the threat of war looming over them. A fun and carefree dance was much needed. 

“Eric, Padma, and Ronald,” Blaise said and Hermione could see her best friend bristle in the corner of her eye, he really hated Blaise. “You will be in charge of ensuring all of those attending will abide by the rules.”

Hermione heard Ron snort and mutter, “Rent-a-guard all night? Bugger off,” from his corner and something inside her snapped.

“Ronald, if you do not feel you are up to the task then I suggest you say so now and we will assign someone else more capable and less daft to do it,” Hermione chastised, acid dripping from each word. All side conversations at that moment ceased. Even Hermione herself felt a tad stunned at her outburst. Ron, normally quick to anger, felt too shocked to absorb her fuel-laced message. 

“Wonderful,” she snapped, “moving on to music, Cho, can you contact the orchestra we used for the Yule Ball again?” The seventh year Ravenclaw nodded and jotted it down in her scroll. 

“My brother has a rock band, the Cornish Pixies!” A second year Hufflepuff blurted from the back, his hand shooting into the air. 

“Jacob, please, serious suggestions only. We want real bands-” Hermione began.

“ _ What the Head Girl is trying to say  _ is that the aesthetic we are going for requires a classical orchestra,” Blaise interrupted, placing a tight hand on Hermione’s shoulder and squeezing it. “But I think it's a wonderful idea to have a rock band as well, we would love to hear some of their tracks.” Blaise gave Jacob a reassuring nod and the boy grinned from ear to ear.

“Let's take a quick ten minute break and when we get back we’re going to go over the new evacuation procedure.”

As the group shuffled out, Ron gave Hermione and Blaise a scathing look. It took everything in her power not to make the ginger boy eat slugs again. 

“What on earth has gotten into you, Hermione?” The head boy asked and pulled her to the side. Hermione looked at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” She asked, confused.

“You just verbally slaughtered Weasley in front of everyone, and you shut down Jacob without a second thought.”

“It was a silly idea!”

_ “It was an idea!  _ We listen to ideas and take them into consideration. That's what we do! Hermione, you were needlessly harsh,” her boyfriend admonished her and took her shoulders in his hands. She looked him in the eyes and realized that he was right. Perhaps she had been  _ too _ intense... but she couldn't help it. For some reason everything was grating on her nerves today. She didn't know if she wanted to cry or scream. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, face crumbling into tears. She nestled herself into him, taking a shaky breath. “I had a very bad week, but there’s no excuse.”

During Hermione’s bathroom break she realized that there was, in fact, an excuse. Her period had started. That explained the emotional outbursts and aching back. She felt foolish for not having realized it sooner. 

She had stopped taking her potions after the whole “Draco Malfoy is a former death eater” fiasco. It had taken a backseat and now she deeply regretted letting it slip through the cracks. She hadn't had PMS symptoms in quite a while. It felt unpleasant. She made a mental note to apologize to Ron later. 

* * *

 

Later that night, Draco Malfoy went to the owlery to pay his new owl, Athena, a visit. His old owl, Bubo, had passed away three years ago. After giving her a treat, he tied a letter around her claw. She gave a soft hoot as he rubbed her head affectionately. 

“Try really hard to find her this time,” he murmured. “If she's not at the manor try the seaside. Or the mountains.”

If owls could talk, Athena would probably tell him there was no use. He had sent her off with dozens of letters for his mother. She had always returned a few days later, hungry and grumpy, note still attached. 

He held out his arm and motioned for her to fly off. She stayed put. 

“Please, Athena,” he said, “I know it seems pointless, but I'm stuck here. I can't find her on my own.”

After a moment, she spread her wings and took off. Draco watched her soar away with envy. How brilliant it would be to be able to come and go as you please. With the world open around you, your possibilities for paths would be endless. No walls. No people. Just the wind under your wings and the stars above. 

If he were an owl, he could find his mother. He didn't believe she was in any particular danger, as he knew his mum was highly self sufficient and intelligent. She was undoubtedly in hiding. After her son and husband were discovered death eaters: one a traitor to the ministry and the other a traitor to the Dark Lord, Draco was sure she felt no other choice. A woman like his mother simply did not allow herself to even be remotely close to being jailed or murdered. When both sides have reason to persecute you, you disappear.

He wasn't afraid for her wellbeing, but he did miss her. His letters to her were always the same. He would tell her about his week, tell her he loved and missed her, tell her his mark was almost gone and he would be with her soon. It was written in an invisible ink only accessible to those he wished in case someone tried to intercept it.

He hadn't written about Granger, despite the prominent role she now played in his life. He didn't know if it was because he was ashamed or too exhausted to even try to explain the situation. It was probably the latter. Even though he had called her “mudblood” over and over again the past few months, the bite and the passion that had come with that word in the prior years just wasn't there. 

Maybe it was him being overall disillusioned with the pureblood movement and The Dark Lord’s agenda, but it seemed as though Draco’s ideas were beginning to change. He almost primarily called her that word because he knew it would get to her. He sighed and watched as his breath steamed and rose into the air above him.

He would have to stop with the name calling. No matter how much he hated it. He couldn't faint again, it was humiliating. Even though it had happened a week ago, the embarrassment was still fresh in his mind. He couldn't believe Granger saw him pass out like some bloody girl. 

He shivered in the cold. The owlery certainly wasn't the warmest place at night. He drew his robes tighter to him and began his trek back down. He supposed it was time they got used to each other's presence, because he highly doubted Dumbledore would change his mind anytime soon.

The warmth of the castle walls was a stark change to the frigid night air and it was almost stifling. Beginning to sweat, he loosened his tie and pulled his robe off, slinging it loosely over his shoulder. He made his way towards the dungeons, mind churning. Tomorrow they would meet again, and honestly, the idea of that alone could be causing him to overheat. Merlin, she did maddening things to him.

Turning the corner he was shocked when a soft body bumped into his. What was it, midnight? Who would be awake at this hour and wandering about?

“Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry,” a familiar voice cried and Draco felt his insides flip. Of course it was her. When Hermione Granger looked up from straightening her skirt, her kind natured expression flickered away.

“Granger? Why on earth are you running around the dungeons at this time of night?” Malfoy asked, ignoring her scathing look. It was more of a curious question than anything else, honestly. He couldn't recall ever seeing her in the dungeons unless it was for Potions Class.

“That's none of your concern,” she quipped and felt the blood rush to her face. She had snuck into Professor Slughorn’s classroom to make a few batches of her monthly potion so she wouldn't have a repeat of today again, but she wasn't about to disclose that to the Slytherin boy before her. “I was about to ask the same thing to you.  _ I'm  _ allowed to be out after curfew,  _ you're _ not.”

“I was sending a letter,” he said truthfully, “to my mum.” She looked taken back at his plain statement. He didn't know why he had told her the truth. It had just sort of slipped out before he could think to say anything else. When he noticed her expression, he felt the need to explain himself, “I like to avoid the crowds.”

“Oh, well,” she stammered, “I suppose I'll let you off the hook just this once.” It was then that she noticed his relaxed and casual atmosphere. Typically Draco was immaculately dressed, never a hair out of place, but tonight his shirt was untucked, and his tie was loose around his neck. He had his robe slung over his shoulder, hanging from his hand, and his pale hair was a bit mussed. 

Something about his look reminded her of her mother's old fashioned magazines where she would buy her father's clothes. The men on the glossy pages had strong jaws, full lips, cutting cheekbones, and broad shoulders. Hermione hated herself for thinking this, but Merlin, Draco could have easily been one of them.

But it wasn't just his appearance that struck her as different- the very air about him was something foreign. Was it because she knew he had just finished writing to his mother? The idea of him being a mummy’s boy was quite charming. She didn't know who was standing before her; this unkempt mother-loving Draco Malfoy was a mystery.

“Checking me out, are you?” Draco said and gave her a smirk. “I'm not surprised. I'd be checking me out too if I had to shag Zabini.”

Mortified for having been caught studying his physical appearance, Hermione looked away. Her face was burning once again. 

At this ,Draco was suddenly reminded of the Hermione Granger that haunted his dreams, topless in the infirmary. In that moment she had looked almost the exact same way, eyes downcast, cheeks the loveliest shade of pink and lips pursed in a tight, embarrassed line. His mouth went dry as his eyes flicked down to her chest. She was wearing her typical grey sweater over a conservative white button down, and it revealed nothing of the goodness underneath. He wished to see her like that again, and he hated himself for it.

But then again, she had  _ undeniably _ been checking him out. That subtle up and down she had given him had been not so subtle, and it made his stomach feel strange. Perhaps she was beginning to see him the way he had been seeing her?

“What did I say about that kind of language?” She muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh of course, we’re being ‘cordial’ this week, aren't we?” He asked and tilted his head, tone dripping with sarcasm. Hermione clenched her fists. 

“Yes, but you're making it increasingly difficult,” the Gryffindor ground out. “Tomorrow night we’ll be  _ right back  _ in the infirmary, and if you choose to behave the way you have been, I think it's safe to say you will be spending another night there.”

“Is that a threat?” Draco asked, expression going dark.  _ There  _ was the Draco she recognized. Hermione rolled her eyes and put her hand on her forehead. She suddenly felt very, very tired. 

“Please Malfoy,” she sighed, “not tonight. I can't fight.” Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked away.

“Hey! I wasn't done talking to you!” He called after her, voice echoing in the corridor. She didn't look back or respond in any way; her bed was calling her. Her lower back was still cramping painfully and all she wanted to do was sleep. Draco would get all of her attention tomorrow night. Tonight, she would rest.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! An update! It feels to get this out there. This chapter was super full! I hope it answered some of your questions about Draco's fam and fav teacher! I've already written the next chapter because I'm a MONSTER and I really think you all will enjoy it. Hopefully my editor fix it soon so I can get it to you.
> 
> Of course if you liked this and want more feel free to leave me a review! It really inspires me to update. I love the idea that others are enjoying my fic like I enjoyed others' fics for all these years.


	7. Chapter 7

The night before their second healing session, Draco dreamt of her. Well, he had dreamt of her every night, but this dream was different. His typical dreams were full of sweating bodies, hushed moans and the Gryffindor girl in the most pleasing scenarios his lustful subconsciousness could conjure. The dream he was having that night was strange, light and wistful. 

He was in the library, but instead of walls and ceilings, there was only open air and blue summer skies. It was as if someone had taken out all of the furniture, shelves, and books out of Hogwarts and arranged them in the exact order in a random field. For some reason, Draco didn’t think this to be strange at all. 

He was sitting at a table, flipping through a blank textbook when a laugh broke his concentration. It was clear and sweet, like a bell. He looked up to find Hermione Granger across the way sitting at a table with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Ron was making wild gestures as he told a story, much to the amusement of the Head Girl. She was grinning uncontrollably and biting her lip. 

Even from several tables away, Draco could see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and the glint in her soft, mahogany eyes. He wished that she was grinning that way at him instead of Weasley, and the same second that he wished that, it was so. He was no longer four tables away, gazing wistfully at her. He had taken Weasley’s place, telling her a wild story and her eyes were directly on him. She let out another giggle and it was like music to his ears. 

And then he woke up. 

The dream was so mild and pleasant that when consciousness returned to him he couldn’t remember just what he had been dreaming about. He could only feel the whispers of the warmth and tranquility he had felt in that dream, and it puzzled him. Ever since the cursed night where he received his dark mark he hadn’t had such a dream.

Deep down he knew that it had had something to do with Granger, but since he couldn’t exactly remember the contents of the dream, it was easy to lie to himself. Pushing the peculiar dream from his mind, Draco got out of bed. It was about an hour and a half before classes started, so he was happy to escape his dorm and common room before anyone else woke up. 

 

* * *

 

Despite her exhaustion, Hermione couldn’t sleep. The little bouts of sleep she  _ had  _ managed that night were marred with nightmares of her parents being tortured and killed by horrible cloaked figures with no faces. Even as the sky outside her window faded from black, to blue, to a soft pink, their screams were still bouncing about inside her skull. She finally gave up and threw off her covers. She needed a change of scenery to shake off the disturbing dreams. 

Hermione stretched her arms high above her head as she made her way to her bathroom. She realized she was relatively pain free, and she was relieved that at least her cramps were gone. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was early enough that not a lot of students would be up, but late enough that breakfast had already started. She would take a quick shower and grab a bite to eat before resigning herself to the library for some much needed studying. 

When she arrived in the great hall, she wasn’t surprised to see only a dozen students sitting around and eating an early breakfast, and most of them were Ravenclaws. Perhaps they had the same idea as her of getting a head start on studying. 

As she made her way down the gryffindor table to her usual spot- she was definitely a creature of habit- a lone figure slumping down at the Slytherin table caught her eye. 

She didn’t know how she knew it was him, but it was a gut feeling. When he straightened up she saw the shock of white-blonde hair on his head, and her instinct was confirmed. That was definitely Malfoy. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion; she had seen how late he had been up, so she was puzzled as to why he was starting the day so early.  Perhaps he had been having nightmares too? 

After a moment of puzzled staring at the Slytherin boy’s back she briskly reminded herself that she didn’t care and planted herself in her spot. She grabbed a muffin and as she poured herself a glass of orange juice, something began to nag at her. This was an opportunity for them to communicate in a casual and calm manner.  _ Maybe the more we speak the more we can get used to each other,  _ she thought to herself. It would be nothing but beneficial for them to be on pleasant terms. Plus he was all alone, and no one in the world liked eating a meal alone, not even Malfoy. 

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had been hunched for a reason: he was scrawling notes onto a parchment, so engrossed in his work that his breakfast lay uneaten beside him. He went back to his textbook, flipping through the pages roughly. She could hear his sigh of frustration all the way from her place and her curiosity got the better of her. She stood up from her place and made her way over to him.

 

* * *

 

“A Modern Muggle’s Life: Electronic Computers and Their Uses?” a soft voice asked over Draco’s shoulder and he did his best not to jump in surprise. Self consciously, he moved his arm over his notes and glared at the girl behind him.

“Do you mind?” he snapped, “I’m trying to study.”

“You’re taking Muggle Studies?” Hermione asked in surprise and leaned over his shoulder to peer closer at the text on the page. Draco decided not to share the fact that Dumbledore was requiring that he take the class and he did his best to ignore the way her slightly damp hair hung mere inches from his face. She must have just showered; the smell of her shampoo was so strong and sweet that he was shocked that he hadn’t smelled her arrival. 

Pushing all thoughts of Granger in the shower from his mind, Draco nodded and turned back to his textbook. He bit back any snide remarks that may have been waiting to escape from his mouth, reminded himself that they were being cordial this week. It was for both of their sakes, but mostly for his. 

“Would you like some help?” the muggleborn witch asked. In reality, Draco really needed help. He simply could _ not  _ wrap his brain around how pictures could move on a screen that wasn't magical, but he would never say that to her. Since he didn’t say anything, Hermione took that as an invitation to sit down next to him. He looked up at her in shock and over his shoulder at the group of Ravenclaw’s huddled together on the other side of the great hall.

“What are you doing?” he hissed and Hermione shrugged, sliding his notes out from under his arm.

“I’m helping you,” she stated and pretended to skim his list of notes. “Is that against the rules?”

In the back of both of their minds, they were shocked that he hadn’t gotten up immediately to move away from her. Maybe it was his lack of sleep, or because that strange feeling that he had woken up with hadn’t really worn off, but he didn’t really want to move somewhere else.

Hermione stole a glance over her shoulder as well. The Ravenclaws, thankfully, weren’t looking their way. In reality, she was just as painfully aware of the group as he was. She didn’t necessarily want to be seen cozying up next to a Slytherin prat like him, but at the same time she realized that her desire for their strange relationship to be kept a secret was because she herself was prejudiced. What a strange realization that was. Him not wanting to be seen with her because she was a muggleborn Gryffindor was essentially the same thing as her not wanting to be seen with him because he was a pureblood Slytherin. To her friends and most of the school, his house was the worst. And Draco was the worst of the worst.

She knew better though. 

She knew the sacrifice he had made to protect everyone. He had single handedly prevented a war--perhaps postponed it--but still, how many lives had he saved by turning himself in? How many parents could go home to their children because of his selfless act? The whole school was so busy hating him, but Hermione knew that they should all be down on their knees, thanking him. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude for the simplicity and safety of her life without war, Hermione turned to Draco.

“Thank you,” she blurted spontaneously. 

“For what?” he responded. He decided to feign disinterest and not look at her, despite the fact that her sudden statement had seized all of his attention. She was thanking him? He had been nothing but rude to her for the last few months. What on earth was she on about?

“For what you did… last year,” she murmured and he gripped his quill tightly as his chest constricted. He knew exactly what she was talking about; he hadn’t known he had been waiting to hear those words until he heard them fall from her lips. His heart ached painfully and he knew that he had to change the subject.

“Are you going to help me or what?” he grumbled back, hoping his face remained as stony as always. Hermione studied him closely for a few moments, trying to understand his response. Was he embarrassed? Annoyed? Touched? After a moment, she decided the fact that he was accepting her help at all was enough, and a smile tugged at her lips. It was the first and only smile she had ever given him, and he could see it from the corner of his eye. He longed to turn his head and see it in its full shine, but he couldn’t allow her catch onto what he was feeling.

And with that thought came the disturbing question: what was he feeling? He wasn’t so sure, but he decided not to put too much weight onto it. He hadn’t had a kind human interaction in months, excluding Dumbledore; anyone would be starved to see a kind face or hear a kind word after going through what he had gone through. Thankfully, she allowed him to change the subject.

“Well, first of all, this text is rather outdated. Not all computers have to be plugged into an electric socket anymore. Some can be charged and moved about,” the girl said and pulled him out of his thoughts. She pointed to one of his notes. 

“Really?” he asked in surprise. 

“Yes, they fold up in half and sometimes they’re small enough that you can put them in your book bag,” she continued and Draco looked at her, eyes scrutinizing. 

“That sounds fake, but... alright,” he relented after a few seconds and scratched out his notes to make corrections.

 

* * *

 

“That’s a load of bollocks. Not true at all,” Harry Potter scoffed and pulled his sweater on over his head. He dropped to sit on his trunk and he quickly laced up his shoes. Quidditch practice started 10 minutes ago; he had slept in and was subsequently running late. Merlin, why was he like this? Even Ron seemed to have gotten up earlier than he had. 

“No, it  _ is  _ true!” Neville Longbottom insisted, perched on the end of his bed. “Padma was there this morning and she told Parvati who told Lavender who Ginny overheard talking about it in the common room to Dean and then Ginny told  _ me _ to tell  _ you _ that Hermione and Malfoy ate breakfast together!”

“You’re barmy, Neville” the Gryffindor boy said and slipped on his jacket. “There’s literally no way that’s true. Hermione hates Malfoy.” 

“Well, according to Padma she doesn’t anymore,” Neville said, scratching distractedly at the edge of his bedpost. “She says they were even studying together.”

Harry had to actively stop himself from rolling his eyes. Neville was just gullible, and at any time there were about a dozen or so false rumors flying about the castle (sometimes literally). Merlin knew he’d had his fair share of lies about him on everyone’s tongues. 

“Yeah, sure Neville,” the Gryffindor boy said dismissively and made his way out of their shared dormitory. He wasn’t about to give such ludicrous rumors any more of his brain power. He had a Quidditch match against Slytherin coming up soon that he had to train for.

 

* * *

 

Hermione Granger felt as though she was suffering an intense case of deja vu. Everywhere she went, Slytherin girls were strangling her with their eyes. She felt as though she was going mad. They had stopped glaring at her after about a week after her and Blaise began dating, and had resolved to turning their noses up at her whenever she was nearby. So why on earth did she feel as though she had gone back in time? Something even more mental was that she could swear that even Gryffindor kids were whispering about her behind her back.

Deciding that her lack of sleep was catching up to her in the form of hallucinations, she shrugged it off. She had to focus twice as hard in class today since she wouldn’t have so much time to study tonight between her meeting with the prefects, doing her rounds with Blaise and healing Draco. At the thought of Draco she was a tad excited; their impromptu study session that morning had left her feeling optimistic. He hadn’t cursed at her at all and hadn’t been too mean; maybe she had finally had a breakthrough! 

The idea of being able to hold a simple conversation with him was elating. Since they were both trapped with each other, the least she could hope for was a steady and mutual acquaintanceship. She couldn’t keep the grin from her face as she made her way to Advanced Potions. She loved a challenge, and she especially loved it if she believed that she was more than likely going to overcome it. At this rate, she might be able to remove his mark without killing him in the process!

 

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy watched the Slytherin Quidditch practice from afar. He didn’t know what had drawn him out of the castle and onto the path towards the Quidditch pitch. Perhaps he was just biding his time before he would have to see Granger; he desperately needed a distraction. And bloody hell, he had found one: watching all of his old teammates glide across the evening sky on the Nimbus 2001s his father had bought them all made his blood boil. He hadn’t wanted to quit, but the rest of the team made it clear that he was no longer welcome. He clenched his fists, if he hadn’t have been wearing gloves to protect him from the cold, he was certain his fingernails would have pierced his skin. 

Merlin, he hated them. He hated them all. For the first time in all of his years at Hogwarts, he hoped Gryffindor would win next week during their annual match. He couldn’t wait to see Potter and his knucklehead teammates smash his former team into the ground. 

As he stomped back towards the castle, his rage faded into a self pitying sulk. He couldn’t believe this was who he had become: a sad boy with no team, no parents and whose only good interaction lately was with a muggleborn Gryffindor. The only thing that would make this year worse would be if he lost his wand. Everything else of value had been stripped from him. And for what? He had given up everything and everyone still hated him.  _ Well, not everyone,  _ he thought to himself. 

_ “Thank you for what you did… last year,”  _ her words echoed in his mind and his turbulent thoughts calmed a bit. If Hermione Granger, the girl he had tormented and teased for years could be thankful for what he had done… he supposed anyone could. But then again, she seemed more kind, patient, and understanding than the average person. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the sorting hat had considered placing her in Hufflepuff instead. 

Their civil interaction that morning had been almost as enjoyable as getting her riled up in a fight. He supposed he just had to keep swallowing his pride and fighting back against years of his parent’s imprinted beliefs, and he could get out of this year just fine. 

 

* * *

 

The door to the infirmary was locked. With a scoff of disbelief, Hermione tugged at it again. It didn’t budge. What on earth? She had _ never  _ seen this door locked, ever, in all of her seven years here. She rapped her knuckles on the old wood.

“Madame Pomfrey?” she called out, hoping her voice could travel through the ancient door. She waited a few moments. Nothing. She knocked again.

“What’s going on?” she heard Malfoy say as his footsteps approached her. She didn’t look at him, instead she tugged on the handle a few more times. Maybe it was just jammed?

“It seems… like it's… locked!” She grunted between pulls. Draco rolled his eyes.

“What is this, Muggle London? Out of the way, Granger,” the blonde haired boy said and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at the lock and the Gryffindor girl edged away from him. “Alohomora!”

The door jolted in its place, but when Draco went to tug on it, it was still sealed firmly shut. The two of them looked at each other in confusion. 

“It’s the correct night,” Hermione mumbled, “and the right time. I wonder what could be happening?” 

Draco wasn’t listening. He was too busy pounding on the door. He did  _ not  _ come here for weeks and go through excruciating pain to just be locked out, for Merlin’s sake! 

“Maybe she’s not in!” Hermione shouted above the racket that he was causing with his fists. The next second, a loud POP revealed a small elf standing between the two.

“Winky!”

“Winky forget to send you notes! Miss Pomfrey give them to me during lunch times, but Winky is very busy!” the little elf squeaked out. She held two notes in her hands, and Draco snatched one up. Winky flinched away from the sudden movement and Hermione glared at her impatient counterpart.

“It’s okay, Winky. We all forget things.” Hermione soothed and gently took her note. She skimmed it quickly. 

“ _ Due to my replacement arriving early and the precarious situation with the mark  and the need for secrecy, you will no longer be allowed to use the infirmary for your healing sessions, _ ” Draco read aloud and immediately crumpled the note up in his fist. “This is absolute rubbish.” 

“But where are we supposed to go?” Hermione asked and flipped the note around.

“And what about my mark?” Draco hissed and glared daggers at the little elf as if it were her fault. Winky made a quick dash to hide behind Hermione’s legs.

“Wait listen to this,” the girl said and put a hand on his arm distractedly, “there’s more on the back:  _ You are still to continue your work, Hermione.” _

Draco focused sharply at the casual physical contact between her hand and his arm. Two weeks ago he would have pulled away. Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have willingly touched him in the first place. He looked back up at her as she read from the note. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing. 

_ “I’m sure it will be easy for you to find a new place. Since I understand that you and your friends have discovered every nook and cranny in the school,”  _ she finished and her hand slipped from it’s place. His skin was tingling, as if she had touched him through his robes and his shirt.

“Now what?” She asked, more to herself than anyone else, but it brought Draco back to reality. “We can’t skip a session, who knows what negative effects that will have on your progress...” 

“I guess now we find a fucking nook or a cranny,” he sighed, resigned. This may as well have bloody happened. 

“Language,” the Gryffindor chastised. She felt a tugging at her robes and remembered who had been hiding behind her legs. 

“Is Miss needing anything else from Winky?” the house elf asked and Hermione smiled fondly. Draco rolled his eyes.

“No, thank you very much Winky,” she said. After a curtsy, the elf apparated away. Hermione turned and began heading back down the corridor, Draco following close behind. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! Quick update! I'm the best! I know this chapter isn't as long as the others but that's the price of a fast and speedy update, I guess. I'm really really enjoying how their relationship is developing. It's always been a source of anxiety for me in this story... like could I even move them from enemies to friends to something more in a convincing and organic way? But once again these characters write themselves, and for that I'm #blessed
> 
> Also I had to clean out my room today because I'm moving and I found my FIRST fanfiction that I ever wrote. It was a House of Night fanfiction and I wrote it in 7th grade and it's so bad I love it so much. Started from the bottom and now we're ... slightly higher from the bottom.
> 
> If you liked this chapter and want to read more leave a review! Also I'm sure a few of you know where they're going to end up for their healing sessions, but it's also interesting to hear your input and theories.


	8. Chapter 8

“The girls’ lavatory?” Draco scoffed, “You’re off your rocker.” 

“Afraid, Malfoy?” she asked, shooting him a sly smirk as she pushed her way into the bathroom, leaving him standing in the corridor. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed her in.

“This is hardly...sanitary, Granger,” he said, wrinkling his nose and looking around at the dingy stalls and sinks. “And what if someone comes in?” 

“No one comes in here,” Hermione said distractedly, transfiguring two bars of soap into two stools. They were identical to the stools in the infirmary. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“A BOY?!” a shrieking voice pierced through Draco’s eardrums. “A BOY IN THE GIRL’S  BATHROOM?!”

“What the fuck?!” The blonde boy cried, jumping away from the fuming ghost.

“And a Slytherin too!” Myrtle gasped after spotting the colors on his uniform. She turned to glare at Hermione. “Harry is more than welcome, Weasley is acceptable, but this boy? COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.”

“Please, Myrtle,” Hermione pleaded, holding up her hands in surrender, “we need somewhere to… work. Perhaps you can go spend some time with Nicholas or Helena?” 

“You brought us to a haunted, stinking bathroom? That’s your brilliant idea?” Draco sneered.

“NO! The only time you ever come here is to cook up vile potions in my toilets or to enter the bloody Chamber of Secrets!” The ghost girl howled.

“You brought us to a haunted, stinking bathroom that also doubles as  _ the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?!” _ Draco scoffed. “You really  _ have _ gone mad!”

Myrtle wailed on, now mostly ignored by the two living students, “- OH, Myrtle doesn’t get LONELY! Who would ever need to visit her!?” 

“Malfoy- please,” Hermione sighed and crossed her arms. 

“Granger, no” the Slytherin said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. We will not be removing the sigil of he-who-must-not-be-named in front of the bloody entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!” 

“FINE!” She threw her hands in the air, “I don’t suppose YOU have a more _ ideal _ location?!”

 

. . .

 

“... You can’t be serious,” Hermione deadpanned. “A broom closet?”

“What do you mean? I’ve used this broom closet dozens of times-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” she said and moved to push open the door. She knew full well what Malfoy must be using this closet for.  She was stunned by its small size and cluttered interior. There were cobwebs growing all about and she wrinkled her nose at the musty smell.

“I think Filch has forgotten that this closet even exists. I’ve never seen anyone come in or out,” Draco said, grinning devilishly, “well, I guess I’ve seen someone … come inside.”

“I’m not listening!” Hermione sang, plugging her ears as her face turned a violent shade of red. Draco rolled his eyes.

“There’s no reason why we can’t use this, Granger,” he said, “there’s plenty of room.” To illustrate his point, Draco stepped forward and shut the door behind him. Hermione was immediately aware of the tight space and their close proximity to one another. They were so close that she could smell his cologne, something musky and sweet. A mixture of spice and leather. She could see the little flecks of silver in the middle of his impossibly blue eyes.

“We cannot use this space!” Hermione cried.

“And why not?”

“It's too small! I'm a bit claustrophobic,” she fibbed. She  _ wasn't  _ afraid of tight spaces, but she  _ was _ afraid being in tight spaces with  _ him _ . “Plus, it's so disgusting. There are cobwebs everywhere.”

As she spoke, she made a sweeping gesture at the walls and ceilings, her hand swiping right through an unseen spiderweb. Horrified, she watched as a large, furry brown spider made its way up her sleeve.

She let out a rather loud shriek and shook her arm desperately. 

“It's just…. A spider! Granger!” Draco cried, dodging the alarmed girl’s flailing limbs. 

“Get it off! Get it off!” She squealed, “Malfoy! Get it off!” Now her entire body felt tingly, and she imagined hundreds of spindly little legs crawling up and down her skin. She had a sudden moment of empathy for one Ronald Weasley.

“Look, it's on the ground!” The boy said, slamming a foot down on the fuzzy creature.  He lifted his shoe to confirm its demise and made a sound of disgust. Hermione’s chest heaved violently.

“This was your idea? A spider infested closet!?” She snapped, a fire burning in her eyes. Unaffected by her rage, Draco picked up an old newspaper from the pile of rubbish on the desk next to him and cleaned off the bottom of his shoe (they were hippogriff leather, after all).

“Relax, Granger. We can just clean it out. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be the brave type” he sneered and began to mimic her.  _ “Oh! Oh! Get it off! Get it off!”  _ He squealed in a high pitched voice.

Angry and embarrassed, she shoved her way past him and out the door. She was smoothing her skirt down and trying to calm her racing heart when a voice called out to her from the end of the corridor.

“Hermione?” She turned her head to find Colin Creevy and Ginny Weasley staring at her. Oh no. “What are you doing?” 

“Well, that was exciting-” Draco murmured as he exited the closet after her, ignorant of their audience.

“Malfoy?” Colin blurted, eyes flashing between the head girl, the Slytherin, and the broom closet. Hermione could see the wheels churning in the young boy's head as Ginny looked like she had already come to her own conclusions. 

Draco and Hermione shared a look and an unspoken message:  _ it looks like we were shagging in the broom closet.  _ They jumped into action, Malfoy turning on his heel and Hermione putting her best “head girl” face on.

“What are you two doing out so late?” Hermione snapped, making their way towards them. She could hear Malfoy making a quick retreat down the other end of the hallway. The two Gryffindors looked at each other and back to their head girl, each of them pointing to their prefects badges. 

“We're doing our rounds,” Colin said, still stunned by what he had just witnessed. 

“You were the one who scheduled us, Hermione,” Ginny informed her, brows knotted in confusion.

“What were you doing with Draco Malfoy?” Colin blurted, blue eyes wide in confusion. Hermione did her best to not blush. There was no reason to blush in the first place! They weren't doing anything!

“Malfoy and I got into a fight two weeks ago,” the Gryffindor girl admitted, “Dumbledore is making me tutor him as a punishment.”

“In the...broom closet?” Her ginger friend asked, brown eyes narrowed in genuine confusion. She seemed as though she was just trying to wrap her brain around the impossible scenario before her. 

“We were trying to find a private space!” Hermione stammered, and as she spoke she realized how futile defending herself would be. This looked bad, and she knew it, so she changed directions, “never mind, off to bed! Both of you! I will finish your rounds.” 

The two of them stiffened in surprise, neither of them understanding why they seemed to be getting into trouble. As they turned to walk away, Hermione felt weak in the knees. Oh, Merlin…

As they rounded the corner, Ginny gave Hermione one last unreadable look before disappearing from view.

“Well, we’re fucked,” Draco said, making his way down the corridor to stand next to the despairing Gryffindor.

“Language!” Hermione chastised.

“What? We are!” The Slytherin boy said, “it looks like we’re sneaking around shagging in broom closets!” 

“I’ll talk to them,” she said, “I’ll ask them for their discretion. Colin has had a crush on me since fourth year, he’ll listen to me.”

“And the Weaslette?” He asked, folding his arms. “She’s going to tell Potter, I’d bet she’s on her way to tell him right now.” 

“Ginny is my friend,” she said, “and so is Harry. They won’t tell anyone.” 

Draco snorted, he was stunned that even after the whole Blaise thing that had spread through the school like wildfire, she was still underestimating the power of gossip. 

“Anyway, we’re supposed to be healing you,” she said, shaking her head. She would worry about Ginny and Colin later. 

“I don’t know what you want from me Granger, I found a perfectly good place for us,” Malfoy said, crossing his arms and jerking his head in the direction of the broom closet. Hermione began pacing back and forth in the corridor, the wheels in her brain churning. Where could they go?

“No no, that wasn’t enough space. We need somewhere private where no one can find us, large enough to fit us comfortably, clean, and somewhere with enough light…” as she was thinking aloud, Draco heard an unmistakably familiar sound, the sound of stones sliding roughly across one another.  He jerked his head in the direction of the noise, the wall was shifting before his very eyes! The second he saw the door materialize from the wall, he felt incredibly daft; of course he had known about the room. As his thoughts went immediately to a certain vanishing cabinet that he had purposefully never fixed, his mark began itching. Shoving such thoughts from his mind, he spoke up.

“Granger,” he chimed in, pointing to the door, ”look.” 

Hermione followed his pointed finger and her eyes widened.

“That wasn’t there before, was it?” she asked slowly, unsure if she was going mad. He shook his head and a grin stretched across her face.

“The Room of Requirement,” she breathed, “why didn’t I think of that right away?” 

“Looks like we found ourselves a nook,”  Draco said, looking from the door to his partner.

And then he smiled.

A real smile. 

Hermione’s breath was taken away. It wasn't a mean spirited grin or a sarcastic smirk for once, and it did marvelous things to his features.The angles of his face seemed less severe and the blue of his eyes seemed less icy and impassive. He had laugh lines, just barely noticeable on his porcelain skin. She couldn't help but stare. He looked like a different person. 

“Come on, Granger. We don't have all night” he pressed, snapping her out of her reverie. He reached for the door to push it open. 

“Right, of course,” she replied, fighting a blush. What was with her? It was just a smile. Just a simple upturn of the corners of the lips. Everyone did it. Besides, the fact that this was the first time she had even seen the boy smile brought to mind just how fraught with negative emotions their interactions had been over the past six years. 

As the ancient door groaned open, Draco wondered what the room would have in store for him this time. Hermione wondered the same thing, idly remembering the large and useful space the room had conjured up for Dumbledore's army. It had been so perfect. So packed to the brim with tools and dummies and obstacles. So adaptive to their changing needs and growing skills. So bloody brilliant. So-

“ _ Oh,” _ Draco deadpanned as the space inside was revealed. Just a simple office-like space: two stools, two coat hooks, a small desk, and a simple standing candelabra in the corner, filling the room with light. Draco was visibly bored, prodding the worn floorboards with his shoe as he glanced around the room with distaste. “How…quaint...”

Hermione also felt as if the wind had been taken from her sails, but she was not about to let him know. Their job was simple, so the room was simple; it made sense.

“It's perfect,” she chided, “it's exactly what we need.” 

“It's the same as the bloody broom closet,” the slytherin said, crossing his arms.

“It's not! This is a room, at least,” Hermione huffed and set her book bag down on the lone desk.

“I would think you of all people could tell a room from a closet,” Draco drawled. Hermione whirled around to face him.

“This closet is at least _ four times _ the size of that closet!” the gryffindor snapped, only to immediately realize her error. Draco lifted a singular brow and--Merlin--that grin was back. “Room!” She cried, face blooming red for the millionth time that night and trying to correct her mistake. “I meant room!”

“Relax, Granger. I won't tell anyone that the ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’ made a mistake,” he said, placing his bag next to hers. He was still grinning loosely, which made Hermione’s insides feel inexplicably warm despite her chagrin.

This term was turning out to be as interesting as it was stressful.

 

. . . 

  
  


“I'm not sure what I saw, Hermione! But it looked bad,” Ginny whispered from her seat on her bed, her mildly disheveled hair a clear indicator that she had been about to fall asleep. Hermione stood before her, her head leaning against the post and a rather frantic look in her eyes.

“I know it looks bad… but you have to believe me that it wasn't anything!” Hermione stressed, her voice pleading.

_ “Shhh!” _ Someone hissed from their bed. Ginny rolled her eyes but swung her legs off of the bed, motioning for them to continue their conversation in the common room.

Once they were settled on the couch in front of the fireplace, Ginny gave her a serious look as she gathered a throw pillow into her arms.

“If there's something going on between you two, you could just tell me the truth. I'm your friend,” she pressed and Hermione had to keep herself from laughing out of sheer incredulity and exasperation at the situation. 

“Please Ginny, I am _ not  _ interested in Malfoy. I would never involve myself with someone like him,” the head girl scoffed.

“You're with Blaise,” Ginny rebutted. 

“They're absolutely different,” she shook her head. “Trust me, we really were just looking for a place to work. I wouldn't lie to you. I wouldn't!”

After a moment of scrutiny, the visibly tired redhead nodded slowly. “Okay, Hermione. I'll take your word for it.”

Hermione could have sagged in relief, but she didn't want her friend to have any more reason to think she was suspicious.

“Did you tell anyone?” She asked.

“Just Harry,” Ginny replied and Hermione cringed. Oh, Merlin. Draco had been right. 

“Oh, no. What did he say? Did he seem angry?” she asked, wringing her hands in worry. “He must be absolutely livid.”

“No, he didn’t believe me. He said that there had to be another explanation,” the girl said, tucking her legs beneath her. 

“Are you  _ positive _ he didn’t believe it?” the head girl pressed and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Please, Hermione. The only person you have to worry about is Colin.” 

Colin! Merlin, how could she have forgotten him? She had intended to go to him first to minimize any gossip he may unintentionally spread, but he had slipped her mind. 

“If you'd excuse me,” the head girl said and suddenly hopped from the couch. She took the stairs to the boys dormitory quickly until she found his room. 

She knocked softly, hoping that someone was still awake. When a minute passed by she knocked louder. 

“Do you have any idea what hour it is?” A red faced sixth year snapped as he opened the door.

“I'm looking for Colin Creevey,” she said in her best Head Girl voice. She hoped that the boy before her assumed she was only fetching him for Professor Mcgonagall.

“Who is it, Gerald?” Someone asked from darkness inside. 

“Hermione Granger,” the boy grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “she's looking for Colin.”

“You sure she's not looking for Malfoy?” Someone else remarked and the room erupted into laughter as an icy snake slid it's way down Hermione's throat and settled as a hard lump in her stomach. Oh, no. They already knew. 

“Oi! The dungeons are on the other side of the school,” someone else jeered and she felt overwhelmingly nauseous.

The door jerked open wider to reveal a panic-stricken Colin Creevey in his pajamas, “Hermione! What are you doing here?” 

“I’ve come to speak with you,” she said, steeling herself against her inner anxieties. Colin moved out into the hallway and began shutting the door behind them when she stopped him. “No, I’d like your friends to hear this too.”

Colin looked like he was about to be sick as she pushed the door back open. As the hallway light spilled into the open room, a dozen faces peered back at her. This was it. The moment she could halt the gossip before it started.... Her mind raced, what could she possibly say to make them believe that this was all a misunderstanding? She thought of how poor her previous explanations were… The only reason Ginny believed her was because they have been friends for years and she trusted her.

But these boys--she could tell by the way they looked at her--did not trust her. While that revelation stung, she realized that trying to defend herself would only make the situation worse. It would make her look definitely guilty. Perhaps if she let it go, they would circulate as only rumors. Surely the news would be so laughable and absurd that most students would just dismiss it?

The silence was thick in the air as she retracted her previous reason for coming and her eyes skimmed through the room, desperate for anything that could get her out of this mess--there! On the windowsill to her right--discarded bottles of firewhiskey and butterbeer. 

“I happened to perform an unscheduled sweep of the boys dormitories yesterday, and found a plethora of banned items hidden away in here,” Hermione said and watched several of the boys’ eyes flick to the windowsill. “Now, as I’m sure all of you know, Colin is a prefect. That means there is a zero tolerance policy for him and this will result in a severe punishment.”

“But it wasn’t him!” the boy who answered the door said, “he didn’t even know about them!”

“Unfortunately, the rule applies to the room, not the individuals,” she said regrettably and looked Colin. The poor boy looked positively green, “I’m afraid the statutes state that Colin must be immediately stripped of his Prefect title.”

“What!?”

“No!”

“But it was us!”

_ “That’s not fair!”  _

Hermione held her hand up and they were quiet once more, “Colin must be stripped of his Prefect title  _ if  _ I choose to go to Professor Dumbledore with this.”

The boys looked downright pitiful, slumped in their beds with their heads drooped in shame.  Hermione turned to look at Colin and immediately felt guilty; his eyes were filled with shimmering tears. She knew he had nothing to do with the alcohol, and she also truly believed that the rules were too strict.  If she had gotten into trouble for something Lavender brought into her room, she would have been beyond furious.

“Colin, did you know about the drinks?” She asked softly, dropping the harsh tone she had been holding. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, allowing several spilled tears to race to his chin. After a moment of studying his face and turning to look at the boys, she spoke up. “I believe you... I also believe that these rules are far too harsh.”

Colin jerked his head up suddenly, shocked. She smiled at him.

“I will not be going to Professor Dumbledore this time,” Hermione told the boy and he looked so relieved that he could faint. 

“Oh thank Merlin,” one of the boys sighed as he flopped back into his bed.

“This will be your only warning, boys.” Her Head Girl voice was back. “Another slip up and I will not be as lenient. The only reason you have been excused for now is because I’m quite fond of Mr. Creevey here, and it would be a shame to lose him.” 

“Thank you Hermione,” Colin said, grasping her hand. He was still crying, like he didn’t know just how to stop. “Also…. I’m sorry.”

Hermione knew exactly what he was apologizing for, she just squeezed his hand back and shook her head. They probably pried it from him. 

“Goodnight Colin,” she said, smiling sadly and dropping his hand.

“Night,” he responded, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Goodnight, boys,” she gave the boys a hard look as she swept out the door. 

As she made her way back to her dorm, her body felt suddenly very heavy. She hadn’t intended to give Colin the fright of his young life, it was just how the best course of action had ended up. She hoped that the boys were so shaken up that the silly rumors had been tucked away into a forgotten corner of their minds. Of course it was also possible that it had all been for nothing, and the news would fly through the school at devastating speeds.

A disturbing thought occurred to her as she crossed the threshold into her private quarters. Her actions tonight hadn’t been very noble… or brave.… Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Slytherins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I’m in Europe for two months and adjusting is always tough! I have the next chapter planned out so it's only a matter of writing it. lol. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Poor Colin :( I love that boy! In my universe he is FOR SURE going to live.


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you ready?" Hermione Granger asked, her entire body tight with apprehension. Now that they had fallen into a sort of routine with their healing sessions, she began to feel more and more despair at seeing him in such agony. Draco took a deep breath and nodded his head. He clenched his fist and tried his best to prepare himself for the pain.

" _Cauteroma Morsmordre Exsculpo!"_ She cast the spell, waving her wand through the air with the appropriate movements. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, and he reminded Hermione of a muggle child getting a shot. Dread filled her body. She couldn't believe she was causing him all of this pain.

But after a moment, he opened his eyes and checked to make sure that she was, in fact, performing the spell. Once he was confirmed she was, Draco was stunned, because the pain didn't come as though it had broken from a dam… It felt as though it was a slow and steady river, traveling up his mark and through the rest of his body.

This pain wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in the past, even compared to just last week. It still hurt and made him want to pull away from her, but compared to the blinding, electrifying pain he had experienced before he had passed out, this was a walk in the park.

"What's wrong?" The Gryffindor girl asked, ceasing in her wands movements, "Is it working?"

Draco couldn't seem to formulate a sentence, he just nodded dumbly, eyes glued to the faded skull. This seemed impossible, how was it hurting even less than when Pomfrey did it? He sat there in stunned silence for the rest of the night, mind churning with all of the reasons why this session was different than the others.

Hermione didn't understand why he was so silent, the past two weeks he had at least humored her attempts at conversation… For some reason that night he was a hundred miles away. Maybe he was mad at her? She didn't know why he would be… They'd been getting along quite well since they found the Room of Requirement last week. She had been eating breakfast with him and helping him with his Muggle Studies, too.

She peered at him through her lashes, studying his pensive expression flickering in the candlelight. The silence was killing her. He didn't seem angry… Just lost.

"Have you heard from your mom lately?" she asked, reaching for some sort of topic that they could speak about. That broke Draco out of his thoughts and he looked at her.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." His tone was cold and harsh, and she couldn't help but shrink away from him. She should have known better than to bring his mom up. She released his arm and decided that they were done for the night.

"Sorry, I just thought... since you said you were writing to her last week, it would be okay to ask," Hermione mumbled, face burning.

"You thought wrong," he snapped, and her heart dropped into her stomach. She had falsely assumed that they were closer than they actually were. Nothing had changed for him, they were still enemies. The mortified girl stood up, grabbing her robe from the hook and her bag from the desk. All the while Draco watched her with a guarded expression.

"I'll see you next week, then. Perhaps you should wait a little before you head back so that we're not seen together," she said, not looking him in the eyes.

He didn't say anything as she left the room. He wasn't sure what was happening… but he knew it had something to do with her emotions toward him. Draco wasn't stupid and had noticed that she had grown a soft spot for him, even going out of her way to help him with his Muggle Studies homework. He wondered if she considered them friends? Perhaps if her anger increased the intensity of the pain… her compassion decreased it?

Something inside of him ached at the idea of that. It pained him to admit it, but she had been all he'd been able to think about in the past few weeks. Before it had been less troubling because he knew that no adolescent teenage boy would forget seeing a girl like that half naked, but now… He realized he had begun seeing her as a companion. Less as someone to entertain him with her outbursts and arguments and more as someone to entertain him with conversation and company. When he wasn't with her, he was thinking of her; when he wasn't thinking of her, he was dreaming of her.

It was troubling to think about. This was not what he wanted. He didn't want to rely on anyone for contentment or emotional support. He wanted to get through this year and get out.

 

* * *

 

The next time he saw her was through the crowd of students pouring into the Quidditch stands for the annual Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match. She looked stressed and unhappy, flanked by Longbottom and Loony. They were talking to her, but she was obviously a million miles away. Draco didn't mean to stare so long, and he hadn't expected her to look up directly at him, as if sensing his gaze. In response, he quickly looked away.

As he made his way to the Slytherin stands, he wondered why she looked so upset. She hadn't shown up to help him with his homework that morning, perhaps she was mad at him? He supposed he had been a tad harsh with her last night, but he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to be tolerant, and the comment about his mom had caught him off guard.

"I heard Blaise finally broke up with the Mudblood," he heard a fifth year Slytherin say in front of him and all of his attention snapped to the girl. What? What did he just hear? Zabini and Granger broke up?

"It's about time, do you know why?" her friend responded and Draco resisted the urge to lean in closer. That's why she was upset?

"Probably because she's been slagging around with that blood traitor," the first girl responded, and it took a moment for the Slytherin boy to realize that they were referring to _him_ and not Ron Weasley. He couldn't help but bristle at such an insult. He was what now? A blood traitor like the weasels?

Despite his chagrin at being labeled such a tasteless term, Draco couldn't help but feel somewhat… strange. He knew that he shouldn't care if Zabini and Granger weren't dating, but he found himself caring very much. Had the rumors about them really made Zabini break up with her?

He knew it would be a decent thing to feel guilty, but he just felt a lot less heavy than he had been when leaving the castle. His footsteps fell lighter and he took the stairs up to the Slytherin stands three at a time.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione Granger took her usual spot in the Gryffindor Quidditch stands between Neville and Luna, mouth turned down in a tight frown. She couldn't stop thinking about how she had made a fool of herself in front of Malfoy, how she had to keep healing him every week, and how she couldn't tell the truth to anyone. Even though she was bundled up from head to toe, she was still trembling slightly. Perhaps it was the autumn air turning more and more frosty each day as winter approached, or perhaps it was Draco's icy stare from earlier, still so clearly etched into her mind.

"Earth to Hermione," Neville's voice broke through her troubled thoughts. "What is with you today?"

"Her head is full of nargles," Luna chimed in, voice as sweet as a bird.

"Is it something with Blaise?" he pressed when she didn't answer.

"Hm?" Hermione asked, eyes refocusing on her friend's face, "No, we're okay. Although we did have a bit of a row last night while we were patrolling the dungeons."

"Was he upset about you and Draco in the broom closet?" Luna said, making Neville cringe.

" _Blimey,_ Luna. You can't just say things like that-"

"No, no it's quite alright," the head girl said, face warming. "Although nothing happened, Blaise was still understandably upset. We talked it through and we're much better now."

"That's good," Neville nodded and gave Hermione a pat on the knee just as Rosie Jordan- Lee Jordan's little sister- spoke up and her voice filled the entire Quidditch pitch.

" _Goooood morning_ _,_ _everyone! Today is a beautiful day for the most exciting game of the year! Not a cloud in the sky, it's as blue as a Griffin's egg!"_ She rang out and Hermione smiled. Rosie was just like her brother- Lee had graduated two years ago and Quidditch just hadn't been the same after that, until Rosie picked up where her brother had left off.

" _Are you ready to see the best sport on earth?! Merlin_ _'_ _s gift to wizardkind!? The only reason I go_ _to_ _this school- just kidding_ _,_ _Professor- put your hands together for the GRYFFINDOR TEAM!"_

The entire Gryffindor class stood up from their stands, stomping and cheering and clapping. Hermione couldn't help but be swept up in her classmates' excitement, she stood and cheered with them. Their red and gold team shot up from their places on the green pitch and flew high above the arena, soaring like torpedoes through water. When they passed overhead the cheering became ravenous! Hermione waved to Harry, Ron and Ginny as they soared above her, and she couldn't help but smile at how excited everyone was.

She could hear a fair bit of noise from the Hufflepuff stand next to them, and even the Ravenclaws. Nothing quite brought the school together like watching the Gryffindor team come out as triumphant over the Slytherins in Quidditch. They had been known to cheat over the years and it had put a bad taste in everyone's mouths, especially when they would beat both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff with unfair tactics earlier in the season.

" _Look at our team! So noble and brave! Quick as lightning! Oh.. Er yeah and here come the other guys,"_ Rosie dead-panned, and a smack sounded through the pitch as McGonagall surely swiped at the announcer with her newspaper. " _Ow! Okay okay Professor, Blimey. Put your hands together for the Slytherins."_

The opposite side of the raised stands roared to life, easily rivaling the volume of cheers the Gryffindors had produced. In response, the students around her erupted in a chorus of boos and hisses. Hermione didn't join in, after all Blaise was the chaser. She wanted him to do well too. The Slytherins took off from the pitch impossibly fast, strikes of green and silver in the sky.

As they flew over her, she waved excitedly to her boyfriend, who winked back. She couldn't help but smile and clap giddily. She decided that she would put her worries and troubles behind her, if only just for the game. She deserved to have fun just like everyone else.

"Won't this be a strange match," Luna said next to her and Hermione paused her clapping to look at her Ravenclaw friend.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Well, who do you want to win?" Luna asked and she could practically feel the crowd of Gryffindors around them listening in to see who she was siding with. Hermione's face warmed, she hadn't realized she was the only one clapping when the Slytherin team came around.

"I suppose I want the Gryffindor team to win like always," she said, "but I can't _neglect_ cheering for Blaise."

"No one expects you to, Hermione," Neville said softly, giving her a nervous smile. He was obviously also aware of their audience. "It would be cruel to expect you to root against your boyfriend."

Hermione nodded mutely and turned her attention back to the field where the teams had landed again and were shaking hands in the center. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of this sooner, should she have sat here: in her usual spot surrounded by her peers while she cheered for her boyfriend on the opposite team? Or perhaps should she have tried to sneak into the faculty stands to sit among her professors? The Slytherin stands were simply out of the question, but she was surprised she hadn't already thought this through…. Her mind must have been really preoccupied that day.

_"Madame Hooch releases the snitch! The match of the year begins!"_

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour into the game Draco Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes. The Slytherins were winning _without_ cheating or implementing cheap tricks. He sat on the wooden bleachers, arms crossed and fuming as the dolts around him cheered on their team. All he wanted to do was see his traitorous former mates and their new seeker beaten to a bloody pulp. Metaphorically, of course, but physically would have been acceptable too.

Their new seeker- some girl named Sylvie- hadn't been able to catch sight of the snitch yet at all, which made him feel a tad better. It wasn't uncommon to catch sight of the snitch before losing it again, but she couldn't even find it at all. In terms of points, the Slytherins were at a serious lead. 90 to 20. Zabini had been playing impressively, obviously having trained more over the summer. But it wasn't just his former best friend who had improved. He had never seen them all work together so impressively. They had seemed to learn a thing about teamwork since he had left, and that thought made his mouth taste bitter.

Having seen enough, Draco stood from his spot in the back corner and was able to slink away without being seen. As he made his way down the creaky stairs back down to the path he resisted the urge to punch something. He couldn't believe it. Not only were they okay without him, they were better off. Bloody hell, what was his world coming to?

Fuck this. Fuck them. He stormed down the dirt path, kicking up dust in his wake. He was just going to go back to his dorm and shove his face in a textbook until his brain was numb. He was so wrapped up in his temper tantrum that he almost didn't notice a familiar form heading toward him. Well, not towards him, but heading right past him.

With the bottom half of her face buried in her red and gold scarf, and her hood on her robes pulled up, it was no wonder he almost missed her; It was almost as if she was hiding.

"Granger?" He asked as she neared him, and Hermione jumped in fear, eyes wide.

"Oh! Merlin, Malfoy! You scared me," she said, her nose and mouth peaking above the scarf to speak clearly. He couldn't help but admire the splash of freckles across her petite nose and the way the cold turned her cheeks the most lovely shade of pink. _She's cute,_ he admitted to himself.

"Where are you going?" He asked, pulling himself out of his strange reverie.

Hermione played with the end of her sleeves and couldn't seem to look him in the eyes. "It's actually quite embarrassing," she admitted, biting her lip, "I'm afraid I've been kicked out of the Gryffindor stands."

Draco couldn't help but laugh, "You're barmy if you think I'll believe that."

Her mouth turned down into a tight frown "Well, I guess I wasn't kicked out, but several people made it quite clear that if I wanted to cheer for Blaise that I wasn't welcome there."

Several emotions swept through Draco at her response: disbelief, confusion, anger - and when he realized that she had been cheering for Blaise because they hadn't actually broken up, that it had just been a bloody rumor- crushing disappointment.

"Oh," was all his brain could give him to respond with. Hermione nodded, face burning. She looked close to tears, but after a moment, she laughed.

"This whole situation is a tad childish, don't you think?" She asked, eyes shimmering.

"You shouldn't have left," he said suddenly, blue-grey eyes flashing determinedly, "you should have stayed and cheered anyways. Fuck those arseholes, Granger. What they think doesn't matter. They're just bitter and idiotic."

The Gryffindor girl stared in awe at the boy before her, once again stunned by a new side of him that she hadn't thought was possible. She was surprised at his compassion, but also relieved. After their last interaction, she was sure that he would never speak to her again. She didn't know why she suddenly cared about him liking her, but regardless, she knew that she would've been quite upset if he went back to hating her.

She swiped at some of the tears that were making an escape and Draco's chest felt strange. He didn't know when he had started caring about how she felt, but he found that he cared very much when she was upset.

"It's no matter, I'm just going to go up to the faculty stands to sit with McGonagall. I haven't spent much time with her lately anyways," she said, feigning disinterest in the situation, but Draco knew better.

"Fuck that. Come back with me to the school," he blurted and immediately regretted his choice of words. Oh, bloody hell. She stared at him, sweet brown eyes wide, lips parted in surprised. "I-I mean, it's a bloody stupid game. And you didn't help me study this morning. If I fail, it'll be your fault."

He knew it was a stupid thing to say, and that she would never go with him over a Quidditch game full of her best friends and boyfriend, but for some reason, he had to ask. He wanted to spend time with her… to study with her and talk with her...

"What do you say?" He asked softly. He waited for her to make her decision, trying to make his heart stop hammering inside the cavity of his chest. He was fearful that the impossibly loud beat of it would reach her and give every last bit of his feelings away.

To his shock, Hermione smiled and nodded. Despite the biting winds and dropping temperature, Draco felt warmer than he had been all day.

 

* * *

 

They were on their way back to the school when they ran into Luna and Neville.

"Hermione! We've been looking for you everywhere," Neville said, rushing up to them, and instinctively shrinking back at the sight of her companion.

"Hi Draco," Luna said and Draco started in surprise. He had expected them to talk only to Hermione, ignoring his presence. He nodded in response, too surprised to say anything.

"Sorry… I needed some air," Hermione mumbled.

"Well, come back! Don't listen to those stupid gits. You're missing the game, we can still win if Harry catches the snitch soon," Neville said, a little breathlessly. They must have been running around, trying to find her.

"Even if Potter catches the snitch it won't be enough to win," Draco said, a little bitterly.

"We're going to lose, Neville," Luna said to the panting boy, "it's okay to lose sometimes."

"I suppose you're right," he mumbled and scratched the back of his head, blushing.

"We're going back into the school for a spot of hot cocoa and to study a bit. Would you care to join us?" Hermione asked and Draco looked at her in shock. She was telling the truth? Wasn't she worried about what her friends would think?

Neville and Luna looked at each other. He wondered what they thought of the two of them leaving together in the middle of a Quidditch match.

"We're going to wait for them outside the locker rooms so we can be there when they're done," Neville finally said. "They might be upset."

Hermione nodded, "That's a good idea. I would go with you, but I doubt Ron would be happy to see me after everything."

"See you Hermione, goodbye Draco," Luna said as she took Neville by the hand, leading him down the path.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor match continued on, the sounds of the game fading behind them. Draco was thankful to get away.

"So you and weasel are fighting?" The Slytherin asked after a long stretch of silence, he didn't know why he asked. Maybe he just wanted to see what she would be willing to tell him. Yesterday he had wondered if she considered them friends, this was as good as any way to see. You only tell your friends the trouble behind your relationships.

"Don't call him that," she chastised.

"So you and Weasley are fighting?" He said wryly.

"We've been a bit…. rocky these last few months," she admitted and Draco watched her from the corner his eye. She looked truly sad at the loss of his companionship.

"Let me guess… he's not happy about Zabini," he said and Hermione sighed.

"No, not happy at all," she responded. "I think he assumed we would be together, and honestly…. I thought the same thing."

Draco was not surprised at the admission. Everyone with two eyes could have seen that Harry Potter's best friends were mad for each other.

"In retrospect, I've realized that it's better that we're not together. Although I never intended to lose his friendship in the process of that realization," she finished and he could hear the sorrow in her voice. They fell into a deep silence, only the echoes of the game, the wind rustling the pine trees, and the crunching dirt beneath their shoes accompanying them.

"It's hard losing a best friend," the Slytherin said in a show of uncharacteristic sympathy. He just wanted to show her that he knew how she felt. Hermione looked up at him and studied his profile, he was obviously referencing his fallen friendship with Blaise Zabini.

"What happened with that, anyways?" She asked. She hoped desperately that the question sounded casual- because in reality she was dying to know.

"Conflict of interests," was all he said and his tone implied that the subject was closed. Hermione had to bit her lip to keep from pressing deeper into the subject.

Draco felt horrid that she had opened up about her problem while he couldn't reciprocate. He was too ashamed; it had been his fault, his prejudices, and his misguided path that had led to the downfall of their relationship. How could he tell her that upon Blaise discovering that his biological father was alive, and a Muggle, his opinions on blood status and non-magical people had changed, and subsequently Draco had abandoned him because of it?

He simply couldn't tell her the story of how Blaise had spent that summer with his father and half sisters, immersing himself in muggle culture and educating himself on the differences between their worlds. When Draco had heard his best friend- who had previously been a staunch believer that those with pure blood were superior- tell him that they had been all wrong about Muggles and that Draco was wrong to follow in his father's footsteps to become a death eater, Draco had felt betrayed. He was already at war within himself, and to have someone vocalize his insecurities and to tell him he was on the wrong side of history had been too much for him. He simply couldn't wrap his head around how the pure blood who had bullied Muggle-born students alongside Draco had turned into a Muggle-loving half blood in just three months.

"Last one there's a Blast-Ended Skrewt!" Hermione cried suddenly when the castle doors came into view, breaking into a run.

"That's not fair, Granger!" He spluttered, caught off guard. Her laughter, as sweet and clear as a bell, drifted back to him. Her joy was infectious; he couldn't help but grin and sprint after her.

He hadn't understood what Blaise saw in Muggles and Muggle-borns, but Merlin, he was beginning to understand now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I've learned a few lessons since the last time I posted a chapter. 1: it's hard to get writing done in Europe. 2: not everything needs to be shown. Some things can be told about in retrospect! I've decided that I'm no longer going to focus on Blaise/Hermione interactions unless it's absolutely necessary that the audience sees it, hence the fight that happened off page. This is obviously not a Blaise/Hermione story, and I don't want there to be any question of it, as their have been questions in reviews by you guys in the past. Their relationship (for the sake of this story) only serves as an obstacle for Draco and Hermione's relationship.
> 
> I learned this lesson when writing the ending of last chapter, I felt strange when writing Hermione taking care of the rumors, and reading back to it now I know I felt strange because I shouldn't have been writing about it at all. It didn't contribute to the story, it felt as though I went off on a tangent. It's peculiar because I went to film school and I learned all about plot elements that should be shown vs told, and as an editor I would cut and splice unneeded scenes so that a film would be the required length, so this should be second nature to me. If last chapter's ending was a disappointment to you, don't worry, it was also to me. I think the only redeeming quality with that ending is that it shows that perhaps Zabini and Draco's cunning are rubbing off on her.
> 
> Nonetheless, I will continue writing this story and focusing on only the good stuff (or the super necessary stuff) from here on out! No more getting sidetracked! If you agree with my points about something's being shown vs told let me know in the review that I'm not crazy and imagining all of this! Or let me know what you thought of this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it! I know I enjoyed writing it. I love the festivities around quidditch. I especially love Draco and Hermione becoming closer and closer with each chapter, this kind of tension is my aesthetic 100%


	10. Chapter 10

“Hello Winky!” Hermione grinned down at the little elf, who curtsied in response. They had caught her sweeping on the way up to the seventh floor. 

“Hello to Miss!” She squeaked back and Draco resisted the urge to cover his ears. What a bloody annoying voice. “Why is miss and mister inside? Quidditch is playing outside!”

“We’re studying for a bit instead. Would you be able to bring some hot cocoa up to the seventh floor?” Hermione asked, stooping down the elf’s level. “If you’re too busy, I completely understand.”

“Winky is not busy! Winky gets the cocoa for Miss! Winky is happy to help Miss!” She cheered, smiling from pointed ear to pointed ear. Hermione stood up straight and thanked Winky, who immediately apparated away. 

Hermione was smiling fondly as they continued on their way. 

“Why are you so bloody nice to the house elves?” Draco couldn't help but ask, making the smile drop off of Hermione’s face.

“I wasn't aware that they don't deserve respect just because they aren't human.” 

“I never said that they don't deserve ‘respect,’ I said you're too nice; you treat them like they're your friends,” he replied and Hermione stopped in her tracks.

“They are my friends, Malfoy,” she said, and paused a moment before continuing, “Is it really such a wild concept that a house elf could be a friend?” She said it with so much conviction Draco decided it wasn't worth the argument and just kept walking. She was so headstrong about these things, it always made him feel like a mild human in comparison. 

After a moment she kept walking and they continued on in silence. Hermione couldn't help but feel perplexed about how easily he let the subject go; he was always up for an argument, especially surrounding magical creatures. 

“What? No snide comments, no rude insinuations?” She asked, looking at his profile. 

“Is that what you think I would do? Sounds rather rude to assume such things,” he rolled off, the corner of his mouth tilting up in that maddening smirk.

“Um, excuse me, but I have a right to ‘assume such things’ because it's all you've subjected me to in the last six years,” she scoffed, eliciting a laugh from Draco.

“Relax, Granger. I'm just having a bit of fun,” he told her, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, I wasn't aware that ferret-human hybrids could have fun,” the Gryffindor girl said and Draco looked at her, stunned and--he hated to admit it--a bit  _ impressed _ at the insult. His face must have displayed his shock because she laughed and said, “what, Malfoy? I'm just having a bit of fun.”

It was the second time she had laughed since she agreed to come back with him. Each time, Draco felt as though he had lived with that laugh for years as opposed to just a week. He looked her up and down; now that she had shed her cloak he could see that she had forgone her school uniform for a simple maroon sweater dress that went quite well with her black knit tights, stylish boots, and Gryffindor scarf. Her hair was glossy and fell in sweet waves down her back, and he couldn't believe that this girl was the muggle born girl he had teased for years. She was a far cry from the bushy-haired bookworm whose natural habitat was the restricted section of the library. 

She was different, and he was stunned that she was actually here with him instead of outside with her friends; she actually chose to be with  _ him _ over Potter, Weasley, and Zabini. Smugness draped over him like a cloak. Maybe it was just for an afternoon, but she chose him. Surely when they realized where their beloved head girl was they would be hurt and suspicious. He supposed they would discover who she was with and he'd pay for it later, but for now he would just enjoy her presence while he could.

On the other hand, Hermione was now having second thoughts about abandoning the game and her friends. Oh, dear. She had been upset, humiliated by her peers and that had undeniably influenced her decision to come back to the school. Draco had come out of nowhere, showing her a compassionate side and sweeping the ground from under her feet. She couldn't believe that she had been humiliated and bullied by her supposed “friends” and comforted by her “enemy.” He had made it easy to make a split second, spontaneous decision. 

She couldn't help but wonder if she had made the wrong one.

* * *

 

“Well that was bloody horrible,” Ronald Weasley said, taking off his helmet to reveal the sweaty, fiery mess beneath. He threw the helmet to the ground, “a fucking disgrace.”

Harry Potter wiped at the sweat coating his forehead with the sleeve of his robe, remaining silent as he stared at the ground, too tired and disappointed to say anything. 

“We only lost by twenty points, Ron,” Ginny sighed while stripping off her sweater, face flushed from adrenaline and the biting wind. 

“Only because Harry caught the snitch!” Ron fumed, “without him, we would’ve lost by almost two hundred points!”

The entire team hung their heads, shame and disappointment tangible in the air.

“We all were pathetic! What was all of that training for!?” The freckled boy was shouting now, his face turning as red as his hair.

“Hey! You're not the captain!  _ You  _ don't  _ get _ to yell at us!” Ginny barked over her brother. She pointed a finger to her boyfriend, “ _ he's _ the only one allowed to yell at us! But guess what? he’s not! Because he knows  _ we know we  _ played like shite!” 

Ron looked from his sister, to his best friend, then to his shoes. He slumped down on the bench behind him. The rest of the team stayed where they were, making no moves to remove their uniforms. 

That was how Luna and Neville found them. 

“Hey, lot,” Neville said, “how’re you all holding up?” 

“...Not so well,” Katie Bell replied when no one else responded. 

“It was a good fight! Very exciting to watch,” Neville said, obviously trying to cheer his friends up. No one acknowledged them.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Luna supplied. 

“No, but it was only our last year to win and to bring glory to our house-” Harry finally said from gritted teeth, “No offense guys, but you’re really not helping.” 

“Where’s Hermione?” Ginny asked, hoping to change the subject. 

“Probably off celebrating with the Zabini,” Ron bit out, “the snake.” 

“ _ Don’t  _ call Hermione a snake,” Ginny snapped.

“I wasn’t! I was calling Zabini a snake,” Ron said defensively and then paused before shrugging, “but if the shoe fits.”

“Don’t be an arse, Ronald!”

“Enough! Hermione can be with whomever she likes, we’re not her parents,” Harry called above the clamor of the siblings’ argument. The Weasleys ceased their fighting and a silence filled the air before a voice as sweet as a bell turned the air even more sour. 

“Oh, she’s not with Blaise, she’s with Draco Malfoy,” Luna informed them politely and Neville squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. Oh, no.

* * *

 

“Wow,” Hermione breathed as the ancient door groaned inwards to reveal a quite different Room of Requirement than the one they had grown accustomed to. Before it had been a bare bones office: nothing but the essentials. Now it looked like a long lost Hogwarts common room! There were cozy love seats and arm chairs, a grand fireplace, shelves and shelves of books--novels and textbooks alike--and a magnificent chandelier filling the room with twinkling, flickering lights. In one corner was a grand table with two charming dining chairs on either side of it, in the opposite corner were two hammocks hung side by side. 

Draco was also quite speechless, he had not been expecting anything different either… but this was a good surprise. 

“What did you ask for?” He asked the girl next to him, “when you summoned the room, what did you tell it we wanted to do?”

“I-I didn’t ask for anything strange or spectacular. Just a nice, cozy, and private space for us with the correct materials to study!” She cried, face warming. What did he think she asked for?

“You’re not trying to shag me... are you?” he asked and it took everything in her power to not reach out and hit him the way she would Ron or Harry. He was impossible, and she had a sneaking suspicion that if he ever got along with her friends that they would become impossible all together.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped and moved to the shelf of textbooks. And began to pick through the materials the room had provided.  It took a moment for her to realize that there wasn’t a magical book in sight: 

“These are all muggle books!” She gasped and Draco sauntered over to the shelves to look for himself. Muggle novels, muggle instruction manuals, muggle pamphlets! The room listened to her and gave her the perfect studying materials! Hermione flipped through page after page, marvelling at the accuracy and thoroughness the room had managed to achieve every time. 

“How is this possible?” He asked, running a finger along the spines. “How can the room recreate all of these muggle books?” Wizarding books he could understand, as there is an enormous source of material in the school library for the Room to work with, but he had no idea how it could recreate literature it had never known before.

She realized at that point that she recognized every single title and edition: perhaps the room had scanned her mind to find all of the muggle material it could? She supposed it wouldn’t be too strange if every single book she had ever read was locked somewhere within the confines of her brain. Her father and several professors had told her she had a “photographic memory.”

“They're books that I've read before, the room is referencing my mind!” Hermione exclaimed, feeling pure awe at the sheer magic of the room.

“Then what in Merlin’s beard is this filth?” Draco said to her left, he was in the novel section, and had a raunchy love novel in his hands, flipping through the pages. Hermione’s face flared and she snatched the book out of his hands before he could get to the more sexual chapters. She recognized the title, “Prisoner of Passion,” this novel was one installment of a series of porn books her mum had stashed on the top shelf in her parents’ closet. Fifteen year old Hermione had found them one day and read through them all within twelve hours. They were absolute rubbish, and she loved them.

She held it behind her back and bit her lip.

“Come on, Granger, what is it?” He asked, reaching behind her back to try and grab hold of it. Hermione danced out of his grasp, face burning. 

“It’s nothing, Malfoy!” She cried, “just leave it alone!”

“No, no let me see, you hag!” He laughed, reaching with searching hands around her torso to find the prize. She wiggled out of his grasp, also giggling. 

“Just- give it to me!”

“No!”

“Granger!”

“It’s just boring muggle nonsense! You shouldn’t tire your Wizard eyes with such blathering fiction!” she cried, stepping backwards until she found the back of the love seat. She hopped up and over it, preparing to land back first on the soft cushions she could roll off to make a quick escape. However, she jumped unknowing that Draco had developed a rock solid grip on the paper back novel, so he was subsequently pulled down on top of her. 

It took both of them a moment to recognize what had just happened... and the position they were in. Draco couldn’t think: his brain had simply ceased working. All he knew was what he could physically sense: his hands were trapped beneath her, closed around the spine of the book. He was nose to nose with her, her surprised brown eyes close enough that he could see the flecks of gold within them. Her smell was everywhere. Sweet, clean and warm. Merlin, so  _ warm. _ And soft. Her breasts were pressed against his own chest. It was a scene from out of one of his dozens of dreams... Her lips parted and a gasp of surprise puffed against his own lips. He had never been so close to her, if he simply moved his face downward a few inches he could taste her… 

One second Hermione had been mortified, hopping around and keeping the book from Draco, and the next second he was on top of her, pressing her into the couch in such an intimate position that her mind churned to a halt. Her thoughts didn't come back to her until she realized that she couldn’t breathe. 

The second thing thing she could register was his arms around her waist, then his chest against hers. He was firm and strong, unlike Blaise, who was more willowy and lean. Draco was almost like a man. She looked up at his bright blue eyes, mirroring her own shock. With the air she could breathe in, she could smell his cologne and aftershave. It was…. Quite pleasant. Her lungs twitched in a harsh reminder that she needed oxygen to survive.

“Malfoy?” She asked, it was more of a whisper than a vocalization. 

“Yes?” He mumbled, eyes trained on her lips.

“I can’t breathe,” she choked out after a moment.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, coming to his senses and pushing himself off of her chest. She took a deep breath in now that her lungs could expand. Now that he was sitting up, he could see her in a much better position… Her chestnut locks were splayed about on the maroon cushion below her, her face flushed, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She was so alluring to Draco in that moment that he had to stand completely up and move quickly away from her to refrain from doing something he would regret. 

“You- you’re not t-trying to sha-shag me are you?” She sputtered as she propped herself up on her elbows, attempting to throw his own line back at him despite being out of breath and entirely too flustered. 

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise at the question before his overstimulated brain was able to put two and two together, at which point he couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Hermione grinned in success and sat up fully, smoothing down the many strands of hair that the loveseat had afflicted with static electricity as she continued to catch her breath.

She watched as he rubbed his neck and turned away from her, grinning and trying to hide his blush. She couldn't help but smile, she had never, ever seen him blush before. It was… Really cute. She really liked all of these new sides of Draco Malfoy that she was seeing lately… So much so that the idea of him on top of her hadn't disgusted her, if anything, it had been strangely pleasant. She told herself it would have been the same if Harry or Ron would have accidentally fallen atop her, but deep down she knew this warmth in her core and the tingles still skirting through her limbs couldn't have been brought on by Harry or Ron.

What was happening to her?  
“Perhaps we should study,” Draco said, desperate to get his mind off of what had just taken place. Hermione got up from the couch and suddenly remembered her request to Winky.

“The hot cocoa!” She cried, “I forgot!” 

Sure enough when Hermione opened the door to the room of requirement and stepped out into the corridor she found Winky: looking quite lost with tray of hot cocoa and goodies in hand, walking down the hall. 

“Winky!” She called and the little elf turned her head and gave Hermione a huge smile. The elf apparated right before the Gryffindor.

“Miss Hermy! Winky is afraid Winky never finds Miss!” She squeaked and presented the Head Girl with the tray, who took it gratefully.

“I’m sorry! I almost forgot that the Room of Requirement is... hard to find,” she said and Winky looked behind Hermione’s legs to peer into the room. 

“What is Miss and Mister doing in the Requirement Room?” She asked, peering up at the Gryffindor with eyes as wide as saucers. Hermione’s thoughts shifted back to how Draco had just been on top of her, arms wrapped around her waist, eyes trained on her lips and her face flushed.

“Nothing! I mean- well, we wanted somewhere to study, of course.”

“What about the library? Its broken?” 

“Erm, well, no. We just wanted to go somewhere no one could find us. People would not like seeing us together.”

“Why? Because miss is nice and sweet and mister is smelly and mean?”

Hermione laughed, delighted, “yes, that's exactly it.”

“What sort of lies are you telling that poor creature?” Draco called from the doorway. Hermione looked back and saw him scowling, arms crossed and leaning against the frame. 

“Oh, nothing!” She sang back and turned to give the little elf a wink. “Thanks again.”

* * *

 

“Holy-... Malfoy,” Hermione said while glancing at her watch, “we’re about to miss dinner.” 

Draco looked up from his muggle magazine in shock. Five hours had passed? Before him were a dozen sheets of notes, four open books, seven glossy magazines, an empty mug and a tray where there had been pumpkin pasties, biscuits and toffees.

“What? That's mental,” he said in disbelief. 

In response Hermione reached out her wrist so he could read her watch. He whistled.

“Time flies when you're learning about Muggle culture,” she said, closing the book she had been scanning for possible sources for his term paper.

“I never knew muggle culture could be so…” Draco said slowly, saying the words as if tasting them, “interesting.”

“Well, my friend, you've only discovered the tip of the iceberg,” Hermione said, brimming with pride and excitement at the progress she had made with him, and in only two weeks! It had been quite difficult to keep from shoving facts and numbers and tidbits of information down his throat to try and forcibly convince him of the greatness muggles had achieved. She knew that he wouldn't respond well to that, which in itself was strange- she realized- How did she know what he would or wouldn’t respond well to? She must have really gotten to know him in the last few weeks, and even more so today! At first she had worried she had made a mistake by choosing to leave the match to study with him, but now she knew it had been the right choice.

Draco was so busy mulling over the Hermione calling him her “friend” part of the exclamation that he missed the way her eyes softened as he reached to collect all of the muggle material and proceeded to gently stack them up. He walked over to the shelves and put them back in the spot he had retrieved them, trying his best to be accurate. 

Earlier that day he had asked himself if Hermione considered him a friend, and she had just answered it. And now that he had a definitive answer… He didn't know how he felt. When he was alone all he wanted was to get out of the school and graduate with his head down, he didn't want to deal with anyone, he didn't want to spend time with anyone but himself and his studies…. But when he was with her, he wanted to spend all of his time with her. How did this happen? How did she trick him into this semi-friendship situation? A month ago they wanted to kill each other, and now they were joking like old friends? Landing atop one another like they were in the very rubbish romance novel they had landed on? Was he under some spell? 

As they shut the grand doors behind them and the wall swallowed them in ancient brick once more, Draco’s good mood completely went south. Now that they were back in the public space of the corridor, he was reminded of their roles in the school. She was Hermione Granger: head girl of Hogwarts, she belonged in Gryffindor house, top of her class, darling of McGonagall and Dumbledore, and best friends with the chosen one. She had taken down a troll, helped destroy the sorcerer's stone, survived a basilisk attack, solved mystery after mystery, broken into the Ministry of Magic, fought death eaters- his father and crazy aunt among them- holding her own against the evils that worked to bring wizards and witches like her down. Her destiny was set before her: a treacherous and glory filled path fighting for good and all things right.

Draco was nobody, he was nothing. He had done nothing in his seven years besides buy his way onto the quidditch team and try his hardest to get Potter and his lot in trouble. It was absolutely pathetic, he realized. Perhaps the only notable thing he had done was turn himself in to Dumbledore, but he knew how that must have looked to his father: a whimpering pup running away with his tail between his legs. His future was bleak; he would go into hiding once he graduated and he would stay low until the war ended. Or perhaps the war would never end or the ministry would fall and The Dark Lord would take all of the wizarding world for himself. Then he would die or live all of his life in anonymous exile.

He looked at the girl walking next to him in the corner of his eye, her hands were clasped behind her and she was nodding hello to the portraits on the wall.  She was even greeting them in return when they said niceties such as:  _ “Good evening Miss Granger!” “Off to supper, are you?” “Do stop by for a chat later!” _

These little notions of kindness from her stumped him. She was so bloody nice to everyone and everything, even the bloody paintings! They were so different… too different. He was kidding himself with their “friendship.” They could never be anything at all.

“Do you have them at your house?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence between them. It took Draco a moment to realize she was talking about the portraits.

“Yes, it's full of them. All of my distant ancestors down to my grandfather,” he said.

“That must be so wonderful,” she sighed wistfully. “To have them on your walls even after they’ve passed away.”

“It's horrid. They never shut up,” he responded coldly.

“But they're your family,” she said.

“Not anymore they're not,” he finished with a tone so harsh that he surprised even himself. He could visibly see Hermione lean away from him in response.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and looked down at her boots. She hadn't meant to bring something touchy up. She had only wanted to start up a conversation again, since he had seemed a little glum. 

When he didn't respond to her apology, she decided to try again. 

“Do you think the Slytherins ended up winning?” Hermione asked, hoping to stir up a bit of the camaraderie they had just shared. He looked straight ahead, acting as if she hadn't said anything at all.  _ Merlin, _ Hermione thought,  _ what did I say? _

They walked the rest of the way down to the great hall in silence. Hermione despaired, she could feel the progress they had made fading away with each step towards dinner. Why was he closing up again? Why was he pushing her away? They had been fine earlier… More than fine. They had been joking and laughing, studying and conversing…. She had enjoyed their time together more than she had enjoyed her time with her own friends lately. 

“I'll go in first, so nobody sees you with me,” Draco said as they reached the last set of stairs before the corridor that lead to the great hall. Hermione nodded numbly, the sting of his sudden and violent emotional distance turning her world cold. He left her at the top of the stairs, wondering what had happened and what had she done wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update! I'm back in the USA and on my crazy long flights I wrote over 15,000 words of this story so I have all the way up to chapter 13 and part of chapter 14 written soooo expect regular updates! If you like this story let me know! I write this for you guys, and I LOVE to hear from you and what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

When Hermione Granger stepped into the great hall she immediately noted the empty space where her she normally sat with Harry and Ron. It looked as though… All of her friends and most of the quidditch team was missing. Where could they have gone? They couldn't be skipping dinner, could they? Ron and Harry would never miss a meal… They were always hungry.

When she arrived at her usual place, she saw no evidence that anyone had come around. There were no cloaks, bags, or plates… She glanced up and down the Gryffindor table, searching for them.  _ Huh _ , she thought,  _ how peculiar. _

“Do you know where Harry and Ron are?” she asked Seamus Finnigan, who was preoccupied with digging into his meat pie. 

“I don't suppose I do,” he said from a full mouth, “but I  _ do  _ know where you  _ can _ sit.” He pointed and Hermione foolishly followed his finger. She realized that he was pointing to the Slytherin table and the Gryffindor students in earshot erupted into laughter. 

“Very funny, Finnigan,” she said and rolled her eyes. She hoped she sounded as though she couldn't be bothered by such a mean spirited joke. “Dean, have they come by or not?”

“Hm? I'm sorry; I don't speak parseltongue,” Dean Thomas said with such uncharacteristic cruelty that Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping back. There was more laughter from their table, causing even more heads to turn as students craned to see what was happening. She hovered uncertainly, should she sit? Should she leave?

“Merlin, let us eat our dinner,” Seamus said, as if even her presences was a rudely unwelcome burden. A certain kind of dread filled her body, the kind of dread that she hadn't felt since she had gotten her buck teeth fixed in their fourth year… The feeling that everyone was in on a joke that she didn't know…

Humiliated and not willing to fight such a pointless fight, she walked out of the great hall with as much dignity as she could muster, blinking back tears of anger and exasperation.

* * *

 

Draco watched in dismay as Hermione was verbally flayed by her own housemates. Bloody hell, and Slytherins were the “mean ones?” His heart lodged in his throat as she left the hall, chin held high. He could tell she was upset, but she was too damn proud to let anyone see. but Draco knew better: she was really hurt. 

He put his fork down and was standing from his spot, ready to follow her out when someone beat him to it: Blaise. His former best friend jogged toward the exit, ignoring the stares and jeers from both of their houses.

Realization settled over him and pushed him back down into his seat. Draco wasn't her boyfriend, Blaise was. It wasn't his job to chase after her and make sure she was all right.

Draco glared at his dinner, frustration and anger coursing through him.. He didn't understand himself, why on earth would he want to go chase down and comfort a girl he had just treated like shite? He was beginning to think he was bipolar. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Blaise returning to the Great Hall, shrugging at his friends as he walked back toward the other end of the Slytherin table. Draco glanced back toward the doors, wondering where she must have hurried off to.

He sat in his spot, shoulders tense and fist clenched around a metal dining fork. For the life of him, he couldn’t decide if he’d rather go after her or forget every memory of her and never speak to her again. If only he were better at self-administered memory charms...

He squeezed his eyes shut. Merlin, what should he do? 

* * *

 

It was like first year all over again: she was wiping at the tears that were falling rapidly down her cheeks, walking to the only person who had consistently been able to make her feel valued and loved after someone had told her she wasn't worthy. The path to Hagrid's hut was steep and rocky, and especially treacherous at night when visibility was low: she slipped a few times as she made her way down.

The air was cold and wet, quickly chilling her exposed limbs; she regretted wearing her shorter cloak. She couldn't believe how today had gone: she had been bullied by her friends, befriended by her bully which turned immediately back into bullying, and then bullied by her friends again. She just wanted to drink some strange tasting tea with her favorite half-giant and cry like the good old days. Well, the bad old days, she supposed. 

As she approached Hagrid’s cabin Hermione was shocked to hear…. Music? And laughter? Was Hagrid... _ throwing a party? _ As she neared the hut, she looked through the dusty window: sure enough, about a dozen people were inside. The glass had been made poorly, though, bubbles and wobbles within the glass making it hard to discern who was inside.

Unsure as to what was happening and if she would be interrupting something, she walked around to his door and knocked softly. 

The voices quieted immediately and someone hastily pulled the needle off of a record, halting the folksy music that had been drifting through the cracks in the door.. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she knocked again. She could hear hushes and whispers inside but still no answer. What was happening?

“Hagrid?” She called through the thick, molding wood of the front door, “is it a bad time to visit? What's going on?”

The door cracked open a smidge and voice floated out.

“Yes, it is me- Hagrid the half Giant,” said a voice that obviously wasn't Hagrid’s but was trying desperately to sound like it. “Who goes there?”

“It’s Hermione Granger,” she said and rolled her eyes. After a moment the door was jerked open and a wave of warmth, light, and a strange, sharp scent washed over her. 

“‘Mione!” Harry Potter cried, grinning from ear to ear. His face was flushed and his black hair was even more wild than usual. “We were wondering when you'd arrive!” 

Hermione peered behind Harry and saw the entire quidditch team along with Neville and Luna squeezed into the little hut. They were lounging on the floor, on his bed, his couch, his tables and chairs. So this was where they all were.

“What?” She asked, wiping at her face and desperately hoping that they couldn't tell she had been crying, “what on earth are you all doing here? Where’s Hagrid?”

“He’s out of town for a couple days and we wanted a place to escape to,” Ginny popped into sight and gave Harry a big smacking kiss on the cheek. “You know, for a little get together to get our mind off of things.”

It was then that Hermione saw the glasses of brown liquid that everyone was holding and the strange scent suddenly made sense. 

“Are you mad!?” She whisper shouted, suddenly painfully aware of the open door and the tendency of sounds to drift across the grounds to the castle. She stepped in quickly, shutting the thick oak door behind her. “Breaking into a house to drink a liquor that isn't yours on school grounds?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Harry waved his hand and leaned against the doorframe, Ginny still clinging to him. “We can sneak off to Hogsmeade tomorrow to restock everything.” 

“And all of the noise you’re making?” She asked, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Someone was bound to have discovered you with all of the racket you're making.”

“Oh, Neville cast a silencing charm,” Harry explained, grinning.

“Oh really? Because I could hear this ‘little get together’ from forty feet away.”

Everyone looked at Neville, who shrugged his shoulders with a guilty smile. “Oops, must’ve forgotten.”

“I can't be witnessing this right now,” Hermione cried, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head, “I'm Head Girl!” 

“And I'm a prefect,” Ginny said, reaching forward and prying a hand off of her friends eye, “so is Ron.”

Hermione scanned the room for her ginger friend and furrowed her brows when she couldn't find him.

“Where is he anyways?”

“He's taking a piss,” Katie Bell called from where she was reclining on Hagrid’s table, her characteristic ponytail undone. She gestured vaguely towards the door with her cup. “He's quite sloshed too.” 

“He’s drunk and outside? Alone?” Hermione said and resisted the sudden urge to pull her hair out. Could anything be normal today? “The forbidden forest is fifteen steps away! And you let a drunk, impulsive adolescent boy outside on his own?”

“...Good point,” Harry said and put down his glass with a determined thunk, making the liquid slosh out onto Hagrid’s table. He put on his robe, struggling to get his arms in the right holes, “I will go get him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, he was more drunk than he realized. She told him, “you'll only make matters worse, Harry. I'll get him.”

Making a face that Hermione could only assume meant to look affronted, Harry blurted “perhaps we should send Luna or Neville,” rubbing his eye and then pointing an unsteady finger at Hermione, “they're the ones who stayed until the end of the game.” 

“Harry-” Ginny started.

“No, she should explain why she preferred to spend her afternoon with Draco Malfoy,” he slurred and Hermione’s heart fell into her stomach. She looked to Neville who pointed at Luna. Fantastic, should have known Luna would have said something. Hermione didn't respond, she just gripped the sleeves of her cloak and prepared herself for the backlash of her split decision.

“Merlin, Hermione, you really were with him? You don't even try to defend yourself,” he breathed and slumped down in the chair behind him, taking off of his glasses to rub his face, “I didn't believe it at first when everyone told me you were studying with him every morning, and I definitely didn't believe the rumors of you and him in the closet, but I guess this is too much proof.” As he finished the ceiling of the hut seemed to get lower and she could swear that the walls were closing in. She could feel the dozens of eyes on her and she looked to Ginny for help.

“Harry that's not fair, you know that she had been kicked out of the Gryffindor stands, Luna and Neville told us” Ginny said and put her hands on her hips. “It's understandable that she wanted to get away.”

“Yeah, but with Draco Malfoy? Are you really trying to defend her?” Harry snapped, “what, was one Slytherin prat not enough for you? You had to have two? I don't even know who you are anymore.”

“Harry, you're drunk,” Hermione whispered, knowing that at any moment she would crack and begin crying. She hated fighting with Harry. He was rarely ever mad at her. 

“Drunk or not, you're shagging Malfoy, and that is unacceptable,” Harry said and laughed frantically, “ _ traitorous _ even!”

Hermione stood there, shocked at his words. Did he really believe that they were shagging? And if she was, that it would make her a traitor? She knew that there was no way to talk to him when he was like this; it was pointless. He would never even believe her.

Her silence didn't deter him, and he pressed on, “Why are you spending time with him? Why are you going out of your way to see him? What changed? Did something happen that you can't tell us about? Is he making you be with him? Are you Imperioused?”

“No! Harry! Merlin, everything is fine. We're not shagging and he’s not forcing me to do anything!” She cried, “I'll make sure Ron is alive and I'll talk to you tomorrow.” She made a quick dash out of the hut and into the night air, closing the door behind her. She sucked the cold oxygen into her lungs, willing herself to keep calm. 

Harry was just drunk, when he woke up tomorrow he would be more reasonable and she would speak to him about this then. Her hands were trembling as she reached for her wand and cast a quick silencing charm over the hut. she didn't want them to get into trouble, even if they were drunken, judgemental prats.

“Lumos,” she whispered and light poured from the tip of her wand. She squinted into the faintly moonlit distance for any sign of red-haired movement. “Ronald?” She called shakily, hoping he was nearby. “Ron?” 

She waited and listened for something… anything. There was nothing… only the sound of crickets and the trees of the forbidden forest rustling in the cold night wind. Why wasn't he answering? Had he wandered too far into the forest and been accosted by a dangerous magical creature?

She was getting scared now. She approached the edge of the forest, trembling.

“RON!? Where are you?” She cried loudly, hoping to Merlin that he heard him. She listened carefully, several moments passing in thick, heavy silence.

“HERMIONE!” a cry shattered the suffocating silence and transformed into suffocating fear. Her head snapped towards the area she had heard it from.  _ “HELP!”  _ The voice cried again and she knew it was Ron’s, Adrenaline slammed through her veins and she began running toward his voice, directly into the forest. As she frantically navigated her way between tree trunks and low branches, sending shadows dancing about the forest with her light spell, she couldn’t help but think of a dozen possible deaths that could be currently befalling her friend. Merlin, it had better not be those spiders… her mind raced through other circumstances: death eaters? Not unlikely.

The undergrowth thickened as she got closer to the area that she thought she had heard him in. Struggling to push her way forward, she managed to break into a clearing. She stopped to look around, heart hammering wildly in her chest. 

“Where are you!?” She yelled, gripping her wand tightly and shining it onto the trees around her. It did less to illuminate her surroundings than it did to make the shadows look even more menacing.  She heard a branch snap behind her and whirled around, ready to defend herself. She wasn’t fast enough and something grabbed her, lifting her from the ground. She let out a blood curdling scream, horrified at what her fate was about to be. 

“Ahhhhh! I'm a scary monster!” She heard her attacker cry and it took her a few moments to register Ron’s voice. She looked down and saw a head of bright red hair in the moonlight and her jaw dropped open. He started laughing as he let her drop and she stumbled away. 

“You should have seen your face, ‘mione!” He said between howls of laughter. She cried in frustration, and launched herself forward, hitting and punching his chest. 

“You complete arse, Ronald Weasley!” She shouted from between gritted teeth, shoving him away. “How dare you!? I was so worried! You could have been kidnapped or eaten alive or killed by death eaters! I was SO WORRIED.” 

“It was just a joke, Hermione!” He said, scoffing and grinning crookedly. She could smell the whiskey on him. “I just had to piss and I heard your voice and decided it would be funny to play a trick on you, thassit!”

“It wasn't funny! You of all people should know the forbidden forest is forbidden for a reason.” She fumed, pacing back and forth. “Plus, we’re on the brink of war! Who knows what could be lurking in the shadows? I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you! You need to use your brain!” She noticed that he was looking at her strangely and she paused her pacing and ranting to eye his suspiciously. “...What do you want?”

“You still care about me?” He asked softly and Hermione’s heart clenched. With those few words her anger melted away. 

“Oh, Ron... Of course, I still care about you,” she sighed and stepped closer to him, brushing his hair from his forehead. He looked at her with puppy dog eyes and the guilt of not speaking to him for months weighed heavily on her shoulders.

“Then why do you hurt me?” He asked, the question slurred and voice broken. “Why are you with Zabini? I thought we… I thought you liked me.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Merlin, she did not expect to have this conversation tonight. Least of all in the forbidden forest while he was drunk off of his arse. 

“Ron,” she whispered, “it wouldn't have worked.” 

“How could you say that? We’d be perfect together,” He responded, sounding so crushed that Hermione was tempted to lie to him, if only to ease his pain. “...Do you love him?” 

The question had caught her off guard, but despite that Hermione knew the answer without even thinking about it. 

“No,” she told him firmly, sighing. It hadn't even been a question in her mind… In fact, she often forgot she had a boyfriend at all. She would see him during the day in the hallways, organize the prefect’s schedule, patrol together, and have tea together when they got in for the night before heading off to bed separately. It was more like having a domestic partner that you kept around for ease and company. She felt little excitement when seeing him, and had no desire to spend more time with him than necessary. Not to mention she didn't really care too much to be physically close to him, which she knew was something people in love wanted to do. The only time they had ever done more than kiss lightly was the night in the corridor outside of the infirmary when Draco had caught them. The warmth she had felt in the pit of her stomach hadn't returned since then.

At least, not with Blaise…

“Do you love me?” Ron asked, breaking through her thoughts. She stared at him for a moment, how was she supposed to answer that? Of course she loved him, she had loved him for years. Yet the kind of love she felt for him now had morphed into something else. Something more similar to what she felt for Harry.

“Yes, I love you, but-” she started and took a deep breath to continue her explanation. Unfortunately, said explanation was cut off by Ron’s lips covering her own. It took her a moment to register what was happening. This was their first kiss, Hermione distantly realized, and it had been nothing like she had dreamed about: it was rough and desperate and stunk of alcohol. 

“Ron, no!” she whimpered against his lips once she had found her voice.

“Hermione, it’s okay,” he murmured, “I love you too, so much.”

She tried to pull away but his arms had encircled her waist and were crushing her into him. She couldn't breathe. She really began panicking when he backed her into the rough bark of the tree behind her, knocking the wand out of her hand and shoving his tongue into her mouth. 

She pushed and shoved. she tried to wiggle free. she tried to tell him no again and again.  _ It's useless, _ she thought to herself,  _ he’s not listening. _ The kiss turned suddenly violent as he bit down on her lower lip, drawing blood. She cried out in pain, trying in vain to move her head out of the way. Oh Merlin, she thought, she couldn't stop him. When would he stop? What if he didn't stop at all? 

“Get off of her!” A familiar voice growled and suddenly Ron was gone, pulled off of her and thrown back roughly. She sucked in air and leant against the bark of the tree, her knees buckling below her. 

“Granger, are you okay?” Draco Malfoy said, kneeling down to look at her closely. When her eyes focused on his face and she realized who he was, Hermione flung her arms around his shoulders and began to sob. Oh, thank Merlin; it was over. She hadn't known how he had found her or how he had known she was in trouble, but she was so thankful. The sheer sense of panic and helplessness had seemed so overpowering that all she felt now, all she was capable of feeling, was relief and gratitude.

Draco, on the other hand, wasn't sure what he was feeling. There were too many emotions to process: anger, jealousy, fear, and relief. She was pressed into him, crying into his robes. He could feel her trembling slightly and he slowly brought his arms up to hug her back. It was foreign, and he realized that he had never been on the giving end of a comforting embrace…. It had always been his mother giving him one. 

“Are you alright?” He asked again after finally finding his voice. She looked up at him, grief in her eyes and blood on her lip. When she shook her head and he saw the blood drip down her chin, hot, vicious rage poured through him. He looked at the boy who had violated her and caused her this pain. Ron was getting up from the forest floor, covered in leaves and wobbling slightly when Draco extracted himself from Hermione’s grip and stood up.

“What do you think you’re doing, Malf-” Before Draco could think a single thought, his fist was slamming into the other boy’s face. Ron crumpled to the ground once more, drunkenly bringing his hand up toward his nose as he fell.

“Don't you ever fucking lay a hand on her again! Do you hear me, Weasley? I'll fucking end you,” he spat and started towards him again, fully intending to continue his revenge. 

“Malfoy, wait!” Hermione cried and scrambled up from her spot, running to put herself between the two of them. “Don't hurt him!” 

“Why!? He deserves it!” Draco seethed, moving to go around her. she maneuvered to block him once more, a determined look on her tear-stained face. 

“Please, he's drunk and stupid! He didn't know what he was doing was hurting me,” Hermione pleaded. 

“That's no excuse, Granger!” He snapped, fury pouring through him. “He made you bleed!”

“I know! And I know it's no excuse- but, please Malfoy. I can't handle any more violence,” she whispered and began to cry again. How many times would she cry in one day? She was beginning to think she had set some sort of world record. 

At seeing the fresh batch of tears pouring down her face and dripping from her chin, Draco unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. Four seconds in, four seconds held in his lungs, and four seconds out, just like his mother had taught him. He willed himself to relax, Hermione needed him more than he needed to beat Weasley to a bloody pulp. He nodded slowly and she took that as a cue to check on her friend.

He seemed unconscious, and his nose was turning a deep maroon; it was definitely broken. Blood poured from his nostrils and down the sides of his face. Merlin, he was a sad sight. She took out her wand to heal him but paused: perhaps it would be better to leave it... this could serve as a reminder that there are consequences to his actions. But then again, Harry and Ginny would see that someone had hurt him, and ask who had done it… 

She glanced back at the Slytherin, who was running a hand through his pale hair and kicking a pine cone, obviously trying to distract himself. If Harry found out he had broken Ron’s nose, it would be a full-on war. She didn't want Draco in the middle of that, so she decided to quickly repair it and clean the blood away.

As she finished casting the necessary spells, she considered wiping his mind but thought better of it; she hoped he remembered this and would make an effort to apologize later. She doubted he would say anything to Harry, due to shame and embarrassment. 

“Help me carry him to Hagrid’s,” she said, stooping down to lift his arm around her shoulder.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms. “We should leave him out here for the spiders.”

“Malfoy, don't say such things,” she chastised, and when he didn't respond or move to help her she asked, “please?”

“Bloody hell, fine,” he relented angrily and made his way over to her. Why on earth was she so fucking nice?

 


	12. Chapter 12

Draco stood on the threshold of the great hall and the corridor, wondering where Hermione had gone. Before him were three paths: to the left and up the stairs were the Gryffindor common rooms and her shared Head Girl dorm… to the right and down the corridor was the kitchen and the stairs to the dungeon; or straight, out the front doors and into the night.

Draco knew Blaise would have gone up the stairs and tried to have found her among the chattering portraits on the revolving staircase. Hermione was not a particularly sporty girl, and Blaise was an athlete, so he easily would have caught up with her, so she probably hadn't gone to the right. He looked to his left and down the flickering, empty corridor. There was no way she went that way and down to the dungeons. So that only left one path: forward and outside. He supposed she could find solace in escaping out into the night air, just like he did on occasion.

He decided to go with his gut and strode the rest of the way to the front doors and pushed his way outside determinedly. He was not prepared for the cold, wet air that greeted him and wrapped his robe tighter around himself reflexively. He looked around for any sign of her near the castle walls. Nothing.

He started down the stone and dirt path that led to the Quidditch pitch, wondering how far she had gone, or if she had even gone this way at all. As he made his way around the bending path, a light near the forbidden forest caught his eye: the half giant’s pathetic little excuse for a home. He knew quite well that Hermione and Hagrid were chummy. Perhaps she had gone to seek refuge from the cold and the cruelty in his hovel?

It was his most likely option, so he set down the sloping and slippery path. He stepped surely and slowly so as to not fall… Or he did until he heard a scream. Her scream.

It was shrill, sharp and short lived, an obvious cry for help.

“Granger,” he whispered, horror flooding his senses. He tore off down the path, no longer caring about slipping on the wet stones. He flew past the hut and approached the forest, searching for her, and ready to kill whatever had invoked her short scream. The idea that it could have been cut off because someone else had murderously interrupted her came to his mind… no, he wouldn't let himself think like that.

Logic kicked in before he crossed into the thick of the woods, if there was a killer or attacker, he would need to be silent. It wouldn't do him any good to be killed as well. He held his breath and stepped lightly, listening for her voice, or a struggle, or anything. He heard a strange low, mumbling and recognized it as a man's voice. As he edged his way closer towards the noise he spotted a flash of red through the trees. He could recognize that horrid mop of hair anywhere: Weasley. Was Weasley her attacker?

As he got closer, the scene became clear to him: she wasn’t being attacked at all… They were murmuring to one another, standing almost too close for comfort. Draco swallowed hard as Hermione reached a hand out to delicately brush a fiery strand of hair from his forehead. This was the furthest thing from an attack… Had he imagined her scream? Had it been conjured from his paranoid mind? Disgusted both with himself and the image of the two Almost Lovers having a scene in the moonlight, he tried to will his feet to move out of the forest. They remained frozen to the ground. For some reason, he couldn’t pull himself away…

Ron was asking her something but he couldn’t quite make out the words, so he stepped closer, keeping to the shadows and using the trees to hide himself.

“No,” he heard her say in response to whatever question Ron had asked once he was within earshot.

“Do you love me?” Draco heard him ask. Even from behind the cover of the trees and bushes, he could see Ron hold his breath, anxious for her response.

As Hermione thought of her answer, Draco’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. Why was she taking so long to answer?

“Yes, I love you...” she said slowly, and Draco involuntarily clenched his fists. What a bloody liar. That morning she had said that she didn’t love Ron, and Draco had foolishly believed her…  He was suddenly relieved that he hadn’t opened up to her and told her the truth about Blaise.

She was beginning to say something else when Ron suddenly closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her. It took Draco a moment to register what was taking place before him: Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were pressed together…

Ron was declaring his love for her… and kissing her.

And kissing her.

And kissing her.

The forest and sky seemed to cave in around Draco. Revulsion flooded through him and he suddenly felt hot. Too hot. The shivers that had racked his body in the cool night air were gone, replaced now with an angry heat that seemed to come from his very core.

_Leave,_ he commanded himself, _turn around and walk the fuck away._ Why was he standing there and watching these two snogging? Why couldn’t he just go back to the castle?

He heard her whimper something and he bit down on his tongue, was she seriously about to start moaning? As Ron backed them into the bark of the tree behind her, Draco was suddenly reminded of that night in the corridor where she had been pushed against the wall by a different boy.

That did it.

_Fuck this,_ he thought to himself as he turned to stalk away. He was about to crash out of the forest as loudly as possible to let them know that they weren’t alone when he heard a cry that sounded incredibly out of place; It sounded sharp and desperate, and almost as if it was a cry of pain.

He turned around, noticing for the first time that it didn’t look like she had been tugging at his clothes in the heat of a passionate embrace… it looked as though she was trying to push him off of her.

An alarm bell went off in his head and everything clicked into place: This was wrong. She didn’t want this! At this realization he leapt into action, launching himself at Weasley and ripping him off of Hermione.

 

* * *

 

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy dumped Ron Weasley unceremoniously on the steps of Hagrid’s front door. The silencing charm was still on the hut, so her friends hadn't been able to hear anything… Even her previous screams for help, she realized in retrospect… she was so incredibly relieved that Malfoy had come along. They were heading back up the path to the school in silence when Hermione slipped on a mossy stone. Draco reacted quickly, reaching out with strong hands to keep her upright. The pressure of his palms and fingers on her arm and back warmed her to her core.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, thankful that the darkness hid her blush.

“You're welcome,” he replied lightly.

“Seriously…” She said again, looking him in the eyes, “thank you… for what you did back there.”

“I’m a Slytherin, not a monster, Granger. I wouldn't have let that happen to you,” he said and shrugged, forcing a casual tone.

“What were you doing in the forbidden forest anyway?” She was curious, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

”Just taking a nice stroll,” he said, knowing that anything he said would sound unbelievable.

“Oh, were you?” She said, “A nice stroll through a forest infested with magical monsters in the dead of night?”

“That's my ideal Friday night,” he said, shrugging, “I don't expect you to understand.”

They were silent for a moment as they neared the castle, the ancient structure growing larger and closer with each step

“You know what _I_ think?” She asked tentatively, prompting Draco to look at her from the corner of his eye, “I think you saw what happened at dinner and you decided to follow me to make sure I was okay.” It took quite a bit of bravery to say this; her heart hammered in her chest as she watched his face and waited for his response.

Draco looked back in front of him and swallowed hard. He didn't know how to react. It was obvious that following her out of the dining hall was exactly what he did, but he wasn't so sure if he was willing to say it out loud... What would she think if he were to admit it? What would that make him?

“I don't... like my friends to be hurt and alone. So sue me,” he said defensively, opting out on the age old coping mechanism of sarcasm. Hermione was shocked at his declaration of their friendship and the leftover fear and sadness that Ron had instilled in her took a back seat. He considered them friends. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, after years of bullying, cruel words, angry glares and pure disdain, were friends… Her chest filled with affection and warmth.

When they reached the door, the massive torches on the wall illuminated their faces. They paused, neither of them reaching for the handle.

“Are you still... mad at me?” Hermione asked, and Draco furrowed his eyebrows. What was she talking about? “I mean, I'm not sure what I did earlier but you seemed sort of angry as we went down to the Great Hall.”

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair… oh, that. He didn't know how to explain himself. How could he make her understand when he couldn't even comprehend it himself?

“It wasn’t you,” he sighed and paused, searching for the words, “it was… all of the stuff in my head.”

Hermione didn't quite understand but she nodded anyway, just relieved that he didn’t seem to be quite so set on ignoring her from now on.

“I'm sorry,” he added after a moment of silence and Hermione couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Before she could change her mind or talk herself out of it, she enveloped him in a big hug, resting her head on his chest. She paused a moment to just absorb him: she could hear his heartbeat and feel his warmth, and from here she could bury herself in his cologne and natural smell. It was… quite nice. After the way that her other… friends… had treated her that day, she was determined to fully appreciate all of his kindness that night.

He was stunned by the sudden and unexpected gesture of affection and couldn't bring himself to hug her back. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. It had been different when she was crying… It had been more like he was trying to hold the pieces of her together. This was different territory.

“Goodnight, Draco,” she said once she pulled away. He had never heard her call him by just his first name, but he decided he had never heard anything so sweet.

“Goodnight… Hermione,” he responded slowly, feeling the way her first name rolled off of his tongue and past his lips. She gave him one last smile before they crossed the threshold into the school and went their separate ways.

 

* * *

 

Hermione, despite everything that had happened that day, felt numb as she got into bed. She was undeniably tired. Exhausted down to her bones, in fact. But she just couldn’t get Draco’s words out of her head. He had called her his friend, apologized to her, and used her first name for the first time, all within two minutes. It had been overwhelmingly pleasant, and had subsequently wiped away all of the negative emotions she had been holding inside. Now she was left with nothing. She supposed that could happen to anyone.

Her lip was still sore from Ron’s unwarranted bite, and as she settled under her covers, she tried her hardest to forgive him. She understood that he had a lot of pent up frustration about her and their relationship… or lack of a relationship, she supposed. She definitely wasn’t surprised that he had attempted what he did. Harry was also mad at her, so things were looking bleak for the Golden Trio.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Draco Malfoy woke up feeling oddly at peace. He didn’t remember his dream, but the waves of warmth and comfort from it lingered for several moments. He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He had a feeling he knew who his dream had been about. He swung his legs around his bed and stood up, stretching. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

Hermione was already waiting for him at their usual spot at the Slytherin table for breakfast. She had her nose in a book and as he approached, he observed her selection of breakfast foods. Typically she only had an apple and a muffin, but this morning she had piled on the eggs, sausage, beans, and toast in addition to her typical fruit and pastry.

“Bloody hell, Granger,” he said and planted himself next to her, placing his book bag next to her plate. “I hope you left some for the rest of us.”

Hermione looked up at Draco and it took her a moment to realize he was referencing her breakfast. Her face flushed and she pursed her lips, turning back to her book. “I’m hungry, I didn’t get to have dinner last night.”

Draco reached forward and tilted her hand so that he could read the title of the book she was reading: “Ancient Runes: The History of Elder Futhark”.

“This reading was due Wednesday,” the Slytherin said, “you haven’t done it yet?”

“I haven’t had time,” she said, “are you just going to criticize me all morning?”

Draco grinned wryly, “You know… I take notes, too. Would you like those instead of having to read fifty pages of blather?”

Hermione looked at the boy next to her and pondered what he was saying. It took her a moment to realize that she was seriously considering it... Her Head Girl duties and healing Draco had severely impacted her time to study. Surely there was no harm in getting a little bit of assistance from her study partner? Was that considered cheating? She bit her lip out of habit and immediately regretted that decision: it hurt like hell. She couldn't tell if it was bruised, or cut, or both.  

He must have seen her cringe in pain, because his eyes flicked down to her lip.

“You haven’t healed it yet?”

“I forgot,” she mumbled, pulling out her wand to fix it up.

“I’ll do it,” he said softly and pointed his wand at her lower lip. She looked nervously from his wand to his face.

“Are you sure?” she asked, “Do you know how?”

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” he sighed and dropped his arm to the table, “I played Quidditch. Healing charms are the most important charms to know when you and your teammates are consistently getting hurt.”

Hermione nodded slowly, deciding to trust in his skill and apparent experience. She reminded herself sternly that she also had no reason to believe that he would intentionally hurt her, especially after last night.

She couldn’t help but squeeze her eyes shut as he raised his wand once more. It was nerve-wracking, as she had never had anyone but herself or Madame Pomfrey heal her.

“Episky,” he said gently, watching in fascination as the red and irritated skin of her lip faded back to its normal plump pinkness. He resisted the urge to rub his thumb along it and feel its softness.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered back open, her fingers floating up to rub her bottom lip. The tingle of his healing spell was slowly fading away. She looked to Draco for confirmation.

“So, how did you do?”

“What?” he mumbled, eyes unfocused.

“How do my lips look?” She rolled her eyes.

“Your lips look perfect,” he said and Hermione blushed. Was that a compliment? Or was that just him bragging about his skills? She could never tell...

“Shall we begin the outline to your essay?” She asked suddenly, realizing that they had been staring at one another for a bit too long to be considered friendly. Draco blinked in surprise and nodded, pulling out his textbook and scrolls. He didn’t _really_ need her help anymore, but he wasn’t about to inform her of that fact.

Ten minutes into swapping notes and excerpts from various books that they had found the day before, a voice interrupted them.

“Hermione?” Harry interjected and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see him and Ron. She tensed up; she hadn’t been prepared to see Ron so soon… she could still feel the way his arms wrapped around her torso and crushed her to his chest. She gripped her quill tightly, heart racing.

“What do you want, Weasley?” Draco demanded suddenly, and Hermione wondered if he could sense her distress. Harry looked from Hermione to her blonde companion, and she was surprised when he didn’t fire back at Draco with an insult… He looked too tired to bring himself to fight him. They both did.

Hermione’s heart slowed as she took in her friends’ appearances… They didn’t look like they were ready for a fight, in fact they looked downright pitiful. She had suspected that they hadn’t gotten much sleep and now were severely hungover. Both Harry and Ron looked from Draco to Hermione. They were obviously wary of his presence. She supposed it was also the first time they had seen them sitting together with their own eyes.

“Can we talk… alone?” Harry finally murmured.

Draco resisted the urge to sneer; he wondered what Potty and his weasel were going to cook up to get Hermione’s forgiveness.

“Please, ‘Mione?” Ron asked, voice hoarse, “It won’t take long.”

Hermione took a deep breath and stood from her spot, giving Draco a “wait here” motion. Malfoy watched as she followed them out of the great hall. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth in annoyance. He couldn’t see what she liked so much about those two dunces.

After they had disappeared from view, he tried his best to focus on his outline, but it was impossible. What were they saying? And more importantly, what were they saying about him?

 

* * *

 

 “Hermione,” Ron started once they were in an empty part of the corridor, “Sorry can’t even cut it. I took advantage of your trust and I took advantage of you. I wasn’t in the right state of mind, and I completely understand if you hate me now. I’m so _so_ sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

A hard lump formed in the middle of Hermione’s throat. She looked from Ron to Harry.

“You know?” she asked, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Harry nodded, “He told me last night after we found him on the stairs… he was an absolute wreck once he came to.”

She was stunned, not only was Ron apologizing immediately, but he had told Harry, too? She was simply… _floored_ at his humility and his heartfelt words. This Ronald Weasley was not the same boy who had been spiteful and selfish to her all of these years… lashing out at her even in the face of something _he_ had done wrong.

Hermione studied Ron… She could see him now as what he was becoming: a grown man, ready to admit his mistakes and bury his pride in order to make things right.

“I’m not going to say what you did was okay,” she said after a moment and his face fell, shame etched into every wrinkle and corner of his expression. Harry rubbed his hand through his untamable hair, obviously worried that his friend group was being forever torn apart. Hermione looked back and forth between them, “But, I think it's safe to say that I forgive you.”

“You mean it?” Ron said, looking equally relieved and distraught. “You forgive me?”

Hermione offered him a tight smile and nodded. It was true that it had been a severely distressing situation, that she had felt unsafe and that she probably wouldn’t trust him in the same way she used to ever again… but at the same time it was also true that she couldn’t throw seven years of friendship down the drain because he was an impulsive fool.

“I want to apologize, too,” Harry murmured and she turned her attention to her green-eyed friend, “Ginny told me after you left that Dumbledore really _was_ making you tutor him... and that you had confided in her last week. This morning I went to talk to Dumbledore and he told me it was true.” He said and reached out to take her hand, holding it tight, “I’m sorry I doubted you, and I’m sorry about the things I said. About you and him.”

Hermione wanted to cry… this was the best thing she could have heard this morning to remedy the disaster that had happened last night. She pulled Harry toward her with their locked fingers and enveloped him in a hug. He squeezed her back and she felt all of the anxiety and inner turmoil she had felt for the past two months melt away. Like a tight coil unwinding within her heart.

She released him after a moment and smiled fondly. Ron moved to hug her as well, but she held up her hand and he froze.

“Please, Ron... don’t touch me.” She said this firmly, even if it hurt her to say… She may have forgiven him, but she wasn’t ready for physical contact yet.

An awkward moment passed as Ron dropped his arms and took a step away. A troubled  look spread over Harry’s face.

“...Ron told me who stopped him last night,” Harry said quietly, “I may not understand your friendship with Malfoy, but I think I can accept it. If you say he’s really changed, I believe you.”

There they were: the words that she had been dying to hear. They were the catalyst to her tears finally falling, and she laughed, wiping them away as they raced to her chin. “I’m so glad.”

“You’re my best friend, Hermione,” Harry continued, “and I’ll accept anyone who will protect you the way he did last night. No matter how much of a prat he is.”

Listening to Harry’s unexpectedly kind words, something occurred to Hermione.

“I think I’m not the one you should be saying that to,” she said and motioned for them to follow her.

“Hermione, please no,” Ron pleaded, feet planted in their spot, “don’t make me do this.”

She gave him a sharp look that said he had no choice if he wanted to make things right with her again… and that shut his protests down. Harry sighed deeply and followed after her, knowing that Hermione was right… Draco deserved at least a thank you.

Malfoy looked up as they approached once more. He looked disinterested in what was happening, but Hermione knew better: he was definitely intrigued.

“Hi,” she said and plopped back down onto her seat.

“Hey,” he returned, not taking his eyes off of Harry and Ron. Hermione cleared her throat when they didn’t say anything at first.

“Er-, well. I just wanted to thank you, for what you did last night,” Harry said and Draco’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Harry Potter, the chosen one, the boy who lived, and the most famous kid in all of the wizarding world was thanking _him_ , Draco Malfoy? Salazar must have been rolling in his grave.

“Thanks,” Ron grumbled as well, but a lot less genuine than Harry had been. Hermione looked at Draco expectantly.

“You’re welcome,” he said back and turned to his scrolls, pretending to write something very important down. He heard them leave and waited until the footsteps had faded away completely before he looked back up at Hermione, who was smiling so widely she looked as though she would crack her mouth in two.

“What?” he asked. She just shook her head in response and opened the book she had been digging through before they had been interrupted.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM! This part of the story is DONE! Next story arc is coming up and I am BEYOND excited to show you guys! If you liked it, leave me some nice words. They're like... the reason I'm writing this story. If I don't get any kind or constructive words I get sad! Don't let me be sad! Show me some love!
> 
> Hopefully the next update will be soon... I'm VERY pumped at the direction this story is heading.


	13. Chapter 13

“This is looking really beautiful,” Hermione called to the prefect levitating above her. The prefect didn’t respond, her face scrunched up in concentration as she continued to enchant the ceiling to snow. The great hall was being transformed before their very eyes: gone were the long tables and benches, instead there were dozens of round tables covered with shimmering table cloths and moving centerpieces. It was very reminiscent of the Yule ball in their fourth year. 

“Wow,” someone to her right breathed and she looked to find Blaise watching the ceiling fade from their typical dinner time setup to a winter wonderland. “Glad things are turning out well on your end.”

“Let me guess: no one wants to chaperone,” Hermione asked, grinning. She was well aware that practically everyone had refused the role. Even some of the teachers. No one wanted to be responsible on a night like that, not when they could let loose and have fun.

“You guessed right, other than us it's just Professors Mcgonagall and Flitwick,” he said and sighed, rubbing the bridge between his eyes. “I’ll have to ask for a favor from Dumbledore. He’ll help us, and maybe he can convince more people.” 

As Blaise finished his sentence, something shot swiftly past his head towards the other end of the Great Hall. Hermione and Blaise recoiled, stepping back as their eyes searched the room frantically for a moment before they noticed Ginny’s bright-red head duck back behind an upturned table. As they watched, another small object floated up from behind the table before zooming across the room. Their gaze followed it as it dodged between the other prefects to smack perfectly into the back of Ron’s head, a few inches above the last. Ron was still attempting to make his rather oblong snowball fly in the correct direction when a third snowball from Ginny smashed into his, sending both into his face.

Hermione was still torn between being impressed, amused, and exasperated when she heard the clocks begin to toll. “It’s half past six, dinner will be starting soon!” She announced to the room full of decorating prefects. There were a few groans as they began enchanting everything back to normal at the news that the student body would be trickling in to eat. Thankfully Hermione had developed a charm that could change the room from their regular dining hall back to the party hall without any of their progress being lost. She watched as their winter wonderland fell away to reveal the typical, rustic great hall they were all accustomed to. Ron stomped off towards the large doors, his robes dripping with melted snow and embarrassment, equally.

“Merlin… I can’t believe we only have a week and a half left,” Hermione groaned,  Blaise reached down between them to give her hand a squeeze. He didn’t let go, instead he decided to lace his fingers through hers. She tried her hardest not to pull away and subsequently reveal how uncomfortable she was. She didn’t like public displays of affection-  _ especially _ around the prefects that they were supposed to lead. She didn’t want them to think that she was incapable of being professional and separating her social life from her responsibilities and work. 

“What color is your dress?” Blaise asked as they made their way out of the great hall.

“What dress?” She asked, still sidetracked by their linked hands. The only thing she could focus on was how sweaty his palm felt against hers.

“The one you’re wearing to the formal?” He reminded her with a smirk, “I want to make sure my robes don’t clash.”

She swallowed.

“I haven’t gotten one, actually.” she admitted and he looked at her in concern.

“You’re running out of time, all of the best will be taken by this next Hogsmeade trip,” he warned and she pulled away from him, finally freeing her hand. It was cold and clammy. 

“I’ll be fine, I have to run now, I’m really late,” she dismissed and waved goodbye before turning and running down the hall. Tonight was her healing session with Draco, and she was telling the truth: they’d planned on meeting over ten minutes ago. 

As she ran through the corridors, she mulled over her current predicament; she had agreed to go with Blaise to the formal last week, after he had brought it up for the twentieth time. It had been about a month since that night in the forbidden forest where she had admitted to Ron— but mostly herself— that she didn’t love Blaise. And since then she had developed a sort of distance with him that everyone could see. She had never loved him. Of that she was certain. Would she love him in the future? She doubted even that. 

The only reason they were still together at that point was because it had been perfectly comfortable to stay together. There were hardly any pros or cons to their situation, so she couldn’t even make a list to help her decide why she was feeling so restless. 

 

. . .

 

“Hello,” Hermione called out as the door groaned shut behind her. The room of requirement had never changed back to their old, bare bones office. It had stayed the cozy and plush common room that they had grown to love over the last four weeks.

“Hey,” Draco called back from one of the hammocks that had appeared in the far right corner. As she approached him she could see that he had a book in hand. Setting her bag down on the ground, she threw her robe over the back of the couch. She collapsed into the hammock next to his. 

“You’re late,” he commented.

“Sorry,” she said and gave him a melodramatic sigh, “Blaise held me captive on the way over, he wanted to know what I was wearing to the formal... Ginny and Lavender keep asking as well.”

“That sounds truly horrible,” he dead-panned, but then popped his head up from the cocoon of material, “but, let's be honest… what _ are  _ you wearing?”

Hermione groaned, “Draco, not you too.” 

“Well you’re going to regret not having anything to wear, I mean honestly Granger, You’ll have to go nude,” he said, lying his head back down and disappearing from sight before continuing, “not that anyone would mind.” Hermione threw a pillow into his hammock, smacking him square in his face.

“Ow, you slag!” He cried.

“Don’t be perverted,” she snapped back. 

“What’s the big deal? I already know what you look like naked anyways,” he said and she hit him with another pillow. 

“No you don’t!” She cried, face burning, “don’t say creepy things like that.”

He didn’t respond. She began to gently rock back and forth, enjoying the opportunity to relax and get off of her feet. A couple of minutes later, he was still silent.

“Did I kill you with my last pillow? Or perhaps you’re suffocating on it?” She asked after a while. 

“No, I’m just thinking,” he muttered and she sat up, confused at his sudden silence and mood change.

“About what?” she asked and he pulled himself up and out of his hammock. 

“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Hermione stared at his back as he walked over to the dining room table and rolled up his sleeve. His dark mark had dramatically faded in the last two months; before it had been as dark as ink spilled upon fresh, white parchment. Now it was more like a faded coffee stain, losing its edges and the clarity of its symbol. She hoisted herself out of the hammock and padded over to the table to join him.

Hermione settled herself in the seat next to Draco, studying his guarded expression. Draco offered her his arm. Wordlessly, and with a the kind of ease that can only come with weeks of practice, she held it gently while casting the spell with the other. Draco hadn’t cringed away from her while she did this like he used to. This seemed to be a good sign. He said that he felt hardly any pain at all recently. 

He had theorized the change was because she had been practicing, but Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that it was what Madame Pomfrey had mentioned all of those weeks ago. She hadn’t changed how she cast the cleansing charm, or how much strength she had put into the spell. All that had changed was her attitude. And her feelings for him. Her eyes flicked up and to his handsome face. They had grown quite close since that night in the woods. She felt as at ease with him now as she always did with Harry. 

“Are you upset about the formal?” She asked after a few silent moments.

“Hm?” He asked distractedly, “Oh. Yeah.” 

She bit her lip, sad that he had already decided not to go.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go? Not even for a little bit?” she asked, a sliver of hope lacing her words. “There’ll be a live orchestra.”

“Who would I go with?” He asked, annoyed that she was bringing this up again.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I’m not going to go alone,” he told her, shaking his head. 

“You could take Pansy Parkinson,” she joked and raised her eyebrows, “talk about a lovely young lady.”

“Just drop it, Hermione,” he snapped and she pursed her lips. Fine. She wouldn’t bring it up again. If he just wanted to mope about and feel sorry for himself, excluding himself for no reason, she would just let him.

 

. . .

 

Draco’s guilt was eating him alive. His leg bounced restlessly in charms class, watching her from the corner of his eye. Her brown curls were pulled up into a loose ponytail, and it was undeniably his favorite style that she would wear her hair in. This was because the baby hairs at the nape of her neck were exposed to him; the way they curled delicately drove him mad. During their healing session two days ago he had essentially admitted that he had seen her naked before. Well, half naked. More specifically he had seen her topless during the impromptu breast exam that he had been forced to give her in order to prevent his cover from being blown.

Thank Salazar she had only taken it as a strange, perverted joke. It could be worse, he supposed. But he didn't know what had possessed him to say such a thing, especially to her! What on earth was wrong with him? Perhaps he had grown too comfortable around her, and perhaps that night had become such a fundamental part of his attraction to her that he had assumed she had already known. His brain couldn't seem to decipher what was real and what was fantasy. 

What had he expected? Her to respond, “Oh, yes! That was quite a queer night, wasn’t it?”

Of course she hadn't known what he was talking about! She hadn't known because he hadn't told her! Merlin, he was a bloody idiot. 

He could handle feeling stupid, but what he couldn't handle feeling was guilty. This flaw of his had been the driving force of him turning himself into Dumbledore last year. He had felt like rubbish, and although the stakes were much lower this time around he still felt horrid. It had been a lot easier when they had hated each other, it had even been easy when they had been teetering on the line between friends and unlikely partners. It had never occurred once to him that what he had done had been so irrevocably wrong that if she ever found out she would certainly hex him to death.

He hated to admit it, but she truly hadn't been fleshed out as a real person in his eyes until these last few weeks. Before she had been the mudblood Granger, a character he had lived to torture and tease, then she had suddenly and entirely become the subject of his fascination, first sexual, then something else... something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

And now, she was Hermione, the girl who saw his worth when no one else did, who gave him smiles even when he gave her frowns, who met every snarky comment of his with one even more cunning and clever. She was Hermione--the girl who lightly scratched at the sides of desks as she thought, pursed her lips when she was displeased, blinked rapidly when she was excited or intrigued. 

He knew this girl now, the way she would tie her hair back when scrawling notes so the curls wouldn't get in her way, the way she would scrunch up her nose when he said something distasteful and how she consistently chastised him for using curse words-- despite using curse words herself when she thought he wasn't listening.

Draco was in deep now, he could predict what she would say before she said it, he knew the clothes that she would wear when they didn't have to wear their issued uniforms, he even knew the way she crossed her sevens perpendicular right in the middle and dotted her eyes with a hollow circle. 

Whether he had planned it or not, Hermione Granger was now a person in Draco Malfoy’s life. Someone he knew and cared about, and someone that he wanted to be happy and fulfilled.

 

. . .

 

“Something is bothering you,” Dumbledore noted softly from his grand chair. Draco Malfoy sat across from him, fidgeting with his wand. The morning sun was streaming in through the stained glass windows, casting the old man in beautiful colors. Dumbledore’s pet Phoenix cawed softly and used his beak to groom himself. Draco had always liked this office. It was probably the most beautiful room in the castle. Part of the deal that he could stay at Hogwarts under the protection of the walls and faculty was that he had to visit with the kind-eyed Professor once a month. It was almost like a therapy session… okay, it  _ was _ a therapy session. It was disguised as a simple update on his scar though, to Dumbledore’s credit.

“No, nothing is bothering me,” he lied.

“Very well,” the white haired head master nodded and reached into the bowl on his desk, pulling out a handful of bright and colorful candies. “Would you like one? They turn your tongue different colors. It is quite fun.”

“No, thank you.” Draco shook his head and watched in deafening silence as his headmaster ate one after another, nodding his approval at the taste and sticking his tongue out to see the different neon colors. It was when his tongue had turned a bright, luminescent green that Draco had had enough. Fine! “Yes, something is bothering me.”

Dumbledore didn’t respond, he simply raised his eyebrows and waited for his student to continue. Draco wasn’t sure how to start, and he definitely didn’t want to tell the actual story… How could ask for advice without actually admitting what he had done? He licked his lips, trying to think of the words.

“Professor,” he began, leaning forward in his seat, “Have you ever done something to someone that was really bad, but they don’t know that you did it at all?”

“Mr. Malfoy, when you get as old as me there are few things that you haven’t done,” he quipped, looking at Draco from over his half-moon shaped spectacles. 

“Alright, so… I have a friend who did something really stupid— on accident, of course— and violated someone’s _ … trust.. _ without them knowing,” he said slowly, trying to formulate the right words without sounding too suspicious. “Would it be better to tell them what had happened? Or would it be better to keep it a secret forever?” 

Dumbledore sat for a while, sucking on a sweet. He studied Draco intently, blue eyes shimmering in thought. When he finally spoke up, Draco listened reverently.

“I suppose, Mr. Malfoy, it depends on if your friend wants to keep this person close to them. If the two of them were to just, say, fade away and never speak to one another again, I suspect that there’s no harm in letting it stay secret. Although, if he wants to keep the person close, trust is important. And trust is something that cannot be substituted or cheaply faked. It starts from the ground up. Your friend admitting whatever deed to the person would be the right path to take, in my humble opinion.”

Draco mulled that over, running a hand through his pale hair and blowing air out of his mouth. He hadn’t known what he wanted to gain from talking to Dumbledore about this, maybe an answer? Not a likely possibility coming from this specific headmaster... Perhaps an excuse to remain dishonest about that night in the infirmary?

“What if my friend doesn’t know if he wants to keep this person close or not?” He asked. 

“I think your friend knows exactly what he wants,” Dumbledore responded, blue eyes gazing right into Draco’s soul, “it’s just a matter of him coming to terms with it.” With that, he plucked another candy from the bowl and popped it into his mouth.

 

. . .

 

Hermione dug her the heels of her winter boots into the snow, “No! Ginny! For the last time! I don’t want to go in there!” Ginny tugged on her hand and then her sleeve, pulling her towards the same formal dress shop she had bought her dress for the Yule Ball. It was quaint and small, but consistently produced stunning gowns for those willing to spend the money.

“Come…. ON!” Ginny grunted between tugs. Hermione gritted her teeth and pulled away from her ginger friend, but it was no use: Ginny was an athlete and had a killer grip on her jacket sleeve. Plus, there was no way Hermione was abandoning the warmth of her coat in the winter weather, even if it meant escape. “You said that you wanted to!”

“I only said that to spend time with you alone. And there’s no point! I won’t even really be a guest,” she hissed, trying to free herself from the stubborn girl’s death grip, “Blaise and I are going to be chaperoning all night. There’s hardly need for a new dress!” 

“Fine!” Ginny finally relented and let go of Hermione’s sleeve, subsequently sending her stumbling back and landing butt-first in the snow. The cold wetness seeped in through her jeans, sending ice cold chills immediately through her body. She scoffed and tried her best to contain her anger. They were already making a scene in the middle of Hogsmeade and the last thing she wanted was to make an even bigger one by biting Ginny’s head off. 

Instead of shouting like she wanted, Hermione stood up and immediately cast a drying and warming spell on her backside, blushing furiously. Merlin, how embarrassing. She prayed that the students and townsfolk milling about hadn’t noticed their little spat.

“Why do you keep pushing me to do this?” She seethed, drying her gloves next. 

“Because it’s your last year, Hermione,” Ginny threw her hands in the air, exasperated, “you’ve worked harder than anyone I know at this school. You deserve to feel and look like a princess for the last school ball you’ll ever attend. You looked brilliant your fourth year in that purple gown, and I know for a fact that you had fun that night!” She stepped closer to her best friend, taking her shoulders and shaking her lightly, “and I just wish you would let yourself feel that way again.”

Hermione studied Ginny’s face for any sort of trickery or mischief, but there was none. Perhaps she really did just want Hermione to feel good and have fun… Originally Hermione had been suspicious that Ginny wanted to trick her into trying on dresses so that she could treat her as if she was a doll to dress up. 

“… Okay,” she finally said, “but we’re only trying a few on. I doubt I’d even be able to afford anything.”

Ginevra grinned in triumph and Hermione relaxed a bit. She supposed it would be nice to find that special dress that made heads turn when she glided out onto the dance floor once again.

. . .

 

A dozen gowns and two hours later, Hermione no longer wanted to try and find that magical dress that made her feel beautiful, now all she wanted was the sweet embrace of the grave. She groaned as the overzealous saleswoman brought another batch of dresses for her to try on. Everything had made her feel foolish, she looked like an exotic bird. The current dress she was in was particularly horrid: it was a bright yellow, poofy gown. It felt as though the dress was for a high-end prostitute, as the strapless top had a plunging v line exposed way more cleavage than she thought necessary. She cast a desperate glance at Ginny, who rolled her eyes in response. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione,” she sighed, “you’re just trying on dresses, not doing hard labor in Azkaban.”

“Please, Ginny. Let's do something else. Nothing looks good,” she groaned, slumping down onto the elegant love seat behind her, the yellow and frilly dress puffing up around her in response. She patted it down, crying in frustration. 

“Okay, at least give us something to work with,” her friend said briskly, “what don’t you like about these dresses?”

“They’re too bloody poofy,” Hermione complained. 

“Okay, so you want something slimmer,” Ginny said and waved to the saleswoman, who immediately began jotting down notes.

“They’re  _ way _ too revealing,” she said glancing down at the cleavage spilling from the top.

“Okay, something more… conservative,” she said and leaned in to whisper to saleswoman,  _ “but not too conservative.” _

“And these colors just aren’t doing it for me,” she said, “I don’t want to feel like an easter egg or exotic animal.” 

Ginny sighed in frustration, “you’re not giving them anything to work with. You don’t want colors? Do you hear how picky you’re being?”

“It’s not that I don’t want colors,” she defended herself, “my gown from fourth year was a really nice shade of plum. I like tasteful colors.” 

“Okay. So you want something slim, conservative, elegant, and tastefully tinted,” she listed off and after a moment Hermione shrugged in reluctant agreement.

“That sounds about right,” she said after a moment. The woman bustled out, reinvigorated with her new challenge. Hermione stood up suddenly, reaching behind her to try and grab hold of the zipper. “Ugh! How do I get this thing off?! It’s too tight… I can barely breathe. It's been made horrendously and I can’t find the zip... I don’t even want to go to this mental formal!”

“There it is!” Ginny suddenly cried as if she had just solved a mystery or an impossible equation, “ _ that’s _ your problem! You actually wanted to go to the Yule ball. You don’t want to go to this one, that’s why you’re being so difficult!” 

Hermione folded her arms tightly and looked out of the shop window at the quaint village street. “So? What’s the problem if I don’t want to go?”

“You’re missing the point: that’s not the question. The question is: Why? Why don’t you want to go this year? What is the difference between this ball and the last one?” Ginny pressed and stood with her hands on her hips.

“I’m older and have more responsibilities” she grumbled in response and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Be serious,” her friend said, “I think we both know the only difference here... You don’t actually want to go with the boy who's taking you. You don’t like Blaise at all!” 

Hermione looked up sharply at Ginny, panicking that she had managed to read her mind. “That’s not true,” she tried to deny it, but her friend held up her hand.

“It is. I can tell,” she said. “So, who would you rather go with?”

A handsome face with pale hair and icy blue eyes flashed through her mind involuntarily. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge it. She didn’t like Draco Malfoy. She did not want to go to the ball with him.

_ Why not? _ A tiny voice asked in the back of her head,  _ he’s not that much of a prat anymore. He prevented a scheme that would lead to the downfall of the Wizarding world! _

_ Yeah, _ she argued with the voice,  _ only because he had allowed himself be branded a death eater in the first place.  _ He still had trouble with the prejudices that had been instilled into him from birth. Sure, he no longer treated her poorly, but she could see that he struggled sometimes reading muggle literature or history books. His hatred of muggles had been part of his life since childhood; it was practically part of his identity. Why would she be any exception?

“No one, Blaise is fine,” she said, praying that her face wouldn’t give away her inner turmoil. Ginny stared at her, eyes set in stony disbelief. 

“Whatever you say,” her friend sighed just as soon as the saleswoman came back with another pile of dresses. Even by first glance they could tell that it was a much more promising selection. 

 

. . .

 

Draco Malfoy left Dumbledore’s office feeling more troubled than he had going in. He had hoped he would get answers from the old man, but all he ended up with were more questions. It was infuriating. He knew that he couldn’t just ignore this issue and pray that he would forget about it. Every single time he had seen her in the last few days all he could think about was how he had seen her and touched her… in ways she hadn’t known and would have never consented to. Was what he had done… been like what Weasley had done to her in the Forbidden Forest? Ron had touched her and forced himself upon her without her consent, but was what he had done any better? 

“Mr. Malfoy,” someone said from the far end of the corridor. He whirled around to find Professor Slughorn heading towards him, “Why aren’t you at Hogsmeade with the rest of your classmates?”  

“I had a meeting with Dumbledore,” he told his Professor.

“Very well,” he said, “but perhaps it would be best if you were to join them. It’s not often you can get out of the castle.” 

“I was actually just going to head back down to the dungeons to study a bit,” Draco said, shrugging. “I have to pass my NEWTs with flying colors if I want any chance of employment.”

“Nonsense,” Slughorn said and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. The old man had had no problems in the past with showing Draco his distaste in him, so the Slytherin boy was surprised. “I forbid you from holing yourself up in that room. You must accompany me to the village for the last few hours of the trip.”

“But Professor…”  _ Hermione is there with Blaise.  _

“No buts,” the old man tisked. “Maybe there we can find a nice pair of robes for you to wear to the ball.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new arc appears! Something that I planted in the very beginning is coming back to be resolved and I am super hyped about it. It never sat well with me that Draco wouldn't ever think about what had happened in a serious way... So I think this is the right, organic way to take this story.   
> Thank you so much to Thomas, my editor and my new beta reader, LittleMissEighty-Sixed for helping me make this chapter what it needs to be! I'm looking for more beta readers to make this story BOMB, and if you think that could be you, let me know in a review with your email attached!


	14. chapter 14

 

Draco made a Bee-line for one of the only pubs in Hogsmeade, the Three Broomsticks. There was no way he was going to shop for robes he wouldn't end up using, no matter what Slughorn said. He kept his head down and buried his face in his silver and green scarf. Despite the fact that there was no wind, the temperature was bitterly cold. 

He was freezing his arse off, he jogged the rest of the way to the door, eager to warm up inside. Once he was inside and out of the cold, he was surprised to find Hermione  and Ginny sitting at a booth by the window. The light streamed in from the dusty glass, hitting Hermione’s form in the most angelic and becoming light… he almost sighed aloud. It was honestly ridiculous. He couldn’t go anywhere without being reminded of how bloody attractive she was. 

She must have sensed his gaze because they locked eyes two seconds later. His heart skipped a beat when she smiled and waved him over. He hesitated. Really? Sitting together in a place like this? The breakfast table in a nearly empty great-hall was nothing compared to this pub crawling with students. He could almost feel the attention in the room shift to him as he hung his coat up on the designated hooks; despite having kept his head down for the last few months he still wasn’t a very popular guy. He wondered what everyone would think when they sat down together… He was certain that the waves of gossip about the two of them would travel through the school with an intensity never before seen.

As he crossed the pub and made his way over to her, he remembered vaguely the last time they had been in this very pub… he had been tipsy, watching Hermione and Blaise’s date unfold from his darkened corner. He had hated her so much in that moment, pounding back drink after drink hoping to quell his misplaced anger and bitterness… yet for some reason he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. She had been like a magnet, attracting and pulling him towards her. Despite this, all he could think was how much he had wished they had chosen a different pub to wank off in. He had been miserable, jealous, and pathetic. It was strange to think of how much had changed between them. 

Ginny turned to see who their guest was as he approached.

“If it isn’t the ferret himself! Hi Malfoy,” Ginny greeted, pausing to take a drink of her Butterbeer, “we were just talking about you.”

“No, we weren’t. Don’t listen to her.” Hermione shook her head and gave Ginny a withering look, “What are you doing here? I thought you had your meeting with Professor Dumbledore.”

“I did,” Draco informed her, “Slughorn caught me on my way back to my room to study and forced me to come here to  _ ‘pick out a proper pair of robes for the formal.’ _ ” 

Hermione grinned at the mention of their potions master, that sounded like something he would do. Realizing that he was standing awkwardly at the end of their booth, she scooted to the side and gave the place next to her a pat. He took the invitation, sliding in next to her and at this, she felt a little rush of excitement; they had never hung out together outside of the breakfast table and the room of requirement. Now they were sitting next to each other… out in public. In a pub full of their classmates. 

“So, did you find a nice pair of robes?” Ginny asked once he was settled in. Draco snorted in response.

“Absolutely not. You would never catch me in ‘formal robes’ from Hogsmeade, I’d sooner go in nothing but my underwear,” he sneered. All of his life Draco had been showered in nothing but the finest of designer brands, sharing the same personal fashion designers as famous Wizarding actors and politicians. Even if he was living in exile, shunned from his family and everyone he had known, he would simply not wear peasant clothing.

“Careful, Malfoy. Your pureblood prat-ness is showing. There’s nothing wrong with buying clothes here,” Ginny said and Draco rolled his eyes, “In fact, Hermione found a lovely dress from a shop just down the road.”

Draco looked at Hermione, who blushed a deep red.

“You did?” He asked in surprise and she nodded. “What does it look like?”

“It’s nothing special,” she mumbled, scratching at the table. 

“She’s lying,” Ginny said, “it looks bloody brilliant on her.” 

“I’m going to look silly no matter what,” the embarrassed girl sighed, averting her gaze, “I never look good in dresses like that.”

“That’s not true,” Draco said suddenly and with so much conviction that he surprised even himself. Hermione looked at him, chocolate brown eyes wide. He could see Ginny grinning at him from the corner of his eye. He backtracked, “Well, anyone can look good with the right clothes. That’s what my mom always says.” 

Hermione nodded and looked back down at the table. Merlin, Draco was such a bloody fool. He rarely ever fumbled over his words… An awkward silence settled over the table and it was then that Draco realized Hermione had nothing to drink.

“You’re not drinking?” he asked, “do you want me to get you something?”

“No, she’s not in the mood to have fun,” Ginny rolled off and gave her friend a pointed look. 

“I was going to order some tea,” Draco lied, sliding out of the booth and wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers, “they have that here, too... Would you like some as well?” 

Hermione smiled softly and nodded, “I would love that. Thank you, Draco.” 

When he left Ginny raised her eyebrows, “You call him Draco now? When did this start?”

“Last month,” Hermione said and shrugged, acting as though it was no big deal.

“So… Things are going well between you two?”

“I suppose as well as things can go between two peers,” she said, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. 

“Peers?” Ginny pressed.

“... Friends,” Hermione admitted.

“Friends? You seem a _ biiiiit  _ more than friendly.”

“No, Ginny. Nothing more than friends,” Hermione denied, shaking her head. As Draco made his way from the bar with his order, Ginny guzzled down the rest of her butterbeer. This was actually quite impressive, as there was more than half a pint left. Hermione gaped at her friend, what in Merlin’s Beard had possessed her to do that?

“Welp,” she said standing up and pulling on her jacket, “off to meet Harry and Ron. See you back at the school, Hermione. Bye, Malfoy.”

Ginny left before Hermione could even realize what she was doing: abandoning her to be alone with Draco Malfoy. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, and she was suddenly aware of their brushing elbows. They were so close she could smell his expensive cologne. Was he as aware of her as she was of him? 

Draco poured her a cup of tea, trying his best to act natural, for he was also feeling suddenly panicked that their arrangement had turned from a casual sit down to something akin to a date. He handed her the cup of tea and wondered: With Ginny gone had this become a date?

“Thank you,” she said, and reached over to grab the saucer of sugar, brushing his hand in the process. It sent a wave of warmth up his arm. He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye, and he admired the subtle upturn of her nose and the way her lashes curled delicately outwards. She caught him looking, and instead of teasing him or chastising him for staring, she gave him a smile.

_ I could get used to this,  _ he thought to himself and the admission rang through his head with such alarming clarity and volume that it made him pause. A moment later Dumbledore’s words echoed through his mind: “ _ I suppose, Mr. Malfoy, it depends on if your friend wants to keep this person close to them. If the two of them were to just, say, fade away and never speak to one another again, I suspect that there’s no harm in letting it stay secret. Although, if he wants to keep the person close, trust is important.” _

Draco needed to tell her, but he didn’t know how or when. When she bumped into his hand once more he found the physical contact suddenly overwhelming.

“Sorry,” he said and slid out from the booth and then moved to the other side, “not a lot of space there.”

Hermione’s side felt inexplicably cold at the sudden loss of his body heat, but faked an agreeing smile instead.

“What did you and Dumbledore talk about this time?” Hermione asked as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her chamomile tea. 

Draco swallowed hard, knowing full well that he couldn't tell her the truth of how he had been confiding in their old headmaster about what he had seen done under the polyjuice potion all of those weeks ago. So many things had changed since then that it felt as though it had happened in another lifetime; and yet the memories of her topless form were etched into his mind forever. 

“Nothing,” he said quickly, dropping his voice down low so no one could hear them, “just the same as always. Asked if I'd been in contact with my father, how our sessions were going.”

“Ah, I see,” she said and brought the tea up to her lips to blow lightly at the surface, causing the rising steam to bellow. “I'm glad things are going well.”

“Me too,” he said lightly and they both took a drink at the same time. Hermione rubbed at the edge of the teacup’s handle as Draco added another spoonful of sugar to his, having apparently come to the conclusion that it was too bitter. He stirred it in. Silence. Hermione pursed her lips, Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“This is….” Draco began.

“Really strange,” Hermione finished for him and they both laughed. 

“Does it feel like people are looking at us?” Draco asked her.

“It absolutely does,” she said, eyes flickering to the students sitting at their respective tables and those milling about. A few of them turned their heads away. 

“Maybe they’re noticing that I'm not Blaise,” he supplied and Hermione looked at him in panic. Was this wrong? Was this dating 101? Don't get tea with someone who wasn't your romantic partner? 

“Wait, is this allowed?” Hermione asked, leaning in to whisper.

Despite comparing their little get-together to a date himself, he played it cool. “Bloody hell, Hermione. We're getting tea, not shagging on the table for everyone to see,” he rolled off and leant back in his booth, giving her a devilish grin. Hermione blushed violently as the image of them… Being most improper atop the table flashed through her mind. “Relax, it's just tea. You're not cheating on your darling Head Boy.” 

She studied him, noting for the hundredth time how his relaxed mood and easy smile did wonders to his face. Draco was always a handsome boy, she had come to terms with this, but when he let down his guard and open up to her, he was unbearably striking. His pale hair and eyes were a stunning pair of attributes... he looked like he could be part veela. 

Hermione was undeniably attracted to Draco, to the point where she felt compelled to consider what the little voice in the back of her head had been telling her earlier that day… Why  _ not  _ go to the winter formal with him? Or at least ask him… It occurred to her then that she wasn't sure how he felt about her. Was he feeling the same way? Could it be possible that Draco Malfoy could find a muggle-born bookworm like her attractive as well?  

After a moment, she realized she was staring. She shook herself mentally, what on earth was she even thinking about? 

She leant back as well, nodding slowly. “I suppose you're right. I’m just a little uncertain as to how dating… works.”

“Ah, that's right,” Draco said and took a drink, “Zabini is your first boyfriend, isn't he?”

At the mention of her boyfriend, hermione felt a pang of guilt… She had dodged a date with him today by blaming it on dress shopping with Ginny. Yet here she was, in a cozy little corner of a pub with Draco Malfoy, contemplating whether or not she could go to the winter formal with him. She shook her head in response to Draco’s question and that made him sit up a little straighter, eyebrows furrowing.

“Who was it? Was it Harry in third year?” He asked, remembering how clingy the two had been.

“What? No. It was Krum,” she stated and bit her lip, face burning at the memory of the foreign boy who had swept her off her feet, “during fourth year. The Yule ball, remember?”

Ah, the memory clicked. That night came flooding back. She had been beautiful, looking as though she had crawled out of a tale of princesses and knights. Even he had found her quite exquisite that night… he hadn't found a single insult to throw at her.

“Ah, the Bulgarian,” Draco said, “a bit thick, that one.” 

“Don't be a prat, Draco,” she responded, suddenly touchy. “Krum was kind, accomplished, and brave..”

“He had a monobrow,” Draco cut in. 

“He was very handsome!” 

“Oh, come on. The guy was a complete ogre,” the Slytherin scoffed. Hermione sat back in her booth, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Oh like you're that much better of a catch?” She asked, real anger seeping into her voice, “every girl in the school fancied him.”

“Oh, and I’m sure he fancied everyone of them right back,” he said and took a sip of his tea, “but that’s none of my business.” 

“Why are you being so rotten?” Hermione bit out, having forgotten the side of draco that she hadn’t seen in about a month… The cruel part. The last four weeks had been so pleasantly easy between the two of them- not counting the teasing arguments here and there- it had felt as though they had been that way for months.  _ Years, _ even. She hadn’t realized how easily she had forgotten the old Draco… The Draco that bullied and teased her for years...Who delighted in kicking those who were already down.

“Did you get tested?” Draco asked, ignoring her angry expression, “slagging around with someone like that you may just have caught something.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open. Where on earth was this coming from? They had been laughing and joking literally one minute ago, and now he was insulting her and insinuating that she had… a sexually transmitted disease? She was not about to sit there and allow him to tease her and hurt her like he used to. She had the power here. Not him.

Draco watched in shock as she grabbed her bag and slid out from the booth. By the time he had processed what was happening, she was halfway out the door.

“Wait,” he spluttered, quickly sliding from the booth and following her out, “wait, Hermione.” She ignored him, pulling her jacket on as she walked out into the cold. “I was just joking!” 

Hermione made no indication that she heard him and she stepped quickly down the narrow lane that lead out onto the larger street. Draco let out a huff of frustration, he hadn’t meant to offend her! Well, he had. But he didn’t think she would have gotten up and left. He thought she would have just argued with him. They hadn’t argued in ages and he almost missed it.

“Granger, come on,” he groaned, “you’re being dramatic.”

“I’m going to find Blaise,” she said, not turning around. Draco bristled at the mention of her boyfriend and his least favorite human.

“I made a joke,” Draco snapped, “it was funny. You’re supposed to laugh.”

“It was a rubbish joke,” she said, “leave me _ alone,  _ Malfoy!”

“Why are you being so uppity all of a sudden?!” Draco asked, and when her only response to him was to quicken her pace, he stopped in his tracks and barked, “Stop being such a frigid bitch!”

At that, Hermione whirled around, fire in her eyes. 

“Excuse me?!” She scoffed, “what did you just call me?!”

“Was that a rhetorical question, or do you really want me to say it again?” Draco asked, meeting her gaze evenly. 

“Say it again,” she dared, narrowing her eyes. Draco and Hermione glared at each other, ignoring the bustling street a mere ten feet away. 

“ _ Stop being such a frigid bitch _ ,” he said slowly, enunciating each word. 

“You know what, Malfoy?” she said, voice trembling, “I thought you had changed, but you’re just as foul as you’ve ever been.” With that, she turned on her heel and fled from the alleyway and onto the main street.

Draco watched her leave, stomach twisting. It was just a fucking _ joke,  _ and she had to go and be unbearably uptight. He hated that about her, he could never make jokes. She always took them so seriously. She always thought she was above him. Fine, fucking bitch. You know what? He was glad that their little date had been broken up. She made his decision easy. He would never be with her. He didn’t want to be with her. He could never be with someone so uptight.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was fuming, stomping through the snow and not caring if she knocked into the pedestrians milling about. Who did Draco think he was? How could he think that it was okay to talk her like that? To make “jokes” like that? It wasn’t even funny! Jokes had to be funny! He thought he was such a comedian, but he was just a big tosser.

She couldn’t believe that she had been honestly considering going to the formal with that insufferable prat. He was horrible. She would never be romantically entwined with him, not in a million years. Blaise was a much better fit for her. In fact, she would be happy to never talk to Draco ever again. He was insufferable, and she hated him. How she had convinced herself that they were friends was beyond her.

Hermione was so busy seething and fuming silently to herself while she scanned the crowds of people to find her boyfriend or any of her friend, that she didn't notice the sudden and stark change in the atmosphere.

The day was already cold, but the air turned icy and frigid. The entire village darkened, as if the sun had been blocked out by a storm. An intense feeling of unease settled over the crowd, and all of the conversations ceased. The frigid cold covered everyone like a thick, frozen blanket, frosting over the windows, blowing out torches, and turning breath to steam instantaneously. Noticing the frost taking over the front window of her shop to her left, Hermione slowed her row, shivering and turning around. She had also felt the queer dread settling like a rock in the pit of her stomach.

It was with a sharp intake of frozen air that she realized she recognized this feeling. She stood frozen and watched the rooftops. It couldn't be. 

“Oh no,” Hermione breathed, once she saw the first bellowing, black figures rise from behind the rooftops.  _ Dementors.  _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long pause! And for the cliffhanger, I originally had this chapter at like 6,000 words but i was like ‘damn 2 long…. Bring it back bitch.’ SO, yeah. But i’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that the next chapter is all done and just needs to go through my beta readers at some point. If you liked this chapter or are enjoying this fic so far, let me know! Reviews give me inspiration to keep writing.


	15. Chapter 15

“Oh no,” Hermione breathed once she saw the first billowing, black figures rise from behind the rooftops. Dementors. Someone in the crowd screamed and panic broke out. Dozens of the hooded creatures swooped down upon the terrified students, who scattered in response. Some were able to escape into nearby shops and cast protecting charms to barricade the doors, but some unlucky students stood where that were. Too horrified to move, their faces frozen in masks of fear. 

Hermione watched in frozen horror as a girl was knocked flat on her back, a dementor looming over her. It's long, claw like fingers reaching out as if to drag and rip her soul from her very body. It wasn't until she saw the whisps of the girl's life essence being pulled from her mouth that Hermione could move again. With trembling fingers, she dug into her pocket for her wand.

“Expecto Patronum!” She cried, searching in the depths of her despairing brain for a happy memory. Her mother’s glowing smile came to the forefront of her mind. Her familiar patronus, a glowing and shimmering otter, shot from her wand soaring across the street, careening straight into the dreaded monster. It screamed in pain, retreating into the sky.

The other dementors around shied away from the bouncing and swimming patronus, lifting their grey talon-like fingers to shield themselves. Hermione could feel the memory of her mother’s smile slipping away as her frantic mind fought to shift back to thinking about the danger they were all in; she used the last few seconds to sprint over to the girl. Her eyes were rolled back into her head and she looked pale… Too pale. Hermione prayed to Merlin that she had been able to save her in time and she cast a quick levitating charm on the unconscious girl. As her little otter was making his valiant final lap around the square, holding the dementors at bay, Hermione managed to get the girl into one of the shops.

“What's wrong with her?”

“What do we do?” Some seventh year Hufflepuffs asked Hermione. 

“She needs to eat chocolate,” she instructed.

They looked at one another in disbelief, but decided to trust her seemingly nonsensical advice. One of them set about gathering chocolate from the students who had already been to Honeydukes that day.

Seeing that the girl was being sufficiently looked after, Hermione moved to sprint back outside to help the other unfortunate students who hadn’t reacted as quickly, ignoring the protests and the pleas from the students around her.

“No, Hermione!” 

“It's too dangerous!”

“Let the teachers take care of it!”

Squinting, Hermione surveyed the snow-covered courtyard. Seeing no dementors, she began looking for more signs of students who hadn’t yet made it inside. Her heart skipped a beat as she spotted a small, robed body hidden partially in a snow drift.

She slipped on a spot of ice as she rushed over, barely keeping herself from falling. She swallowed hard as she recognized Dennis Creevey, trembling in a tight ball. He was sobbing quietly but uncontrollably, water vapor erratically puffing out of his mouth through clenched teeth. His eyes were shut tightly, as if he thought that might stop the Dementors from seeing him.

“Dennis,” she said, her voice shaking despite her attempt to be strong, “you have to get up.”

“There's no point,” he choked out, “we’re all dead. Everyone is dead.”

It was no use trying to talk to him; he was hysterical. Hermione suddenly felt her heart ice over, goosebumps erupting all over her body--they had returned. She cursed. There was no time.

She stood up, wand pointed at the mob of hideous creatures gliding towards her from across the square. She steeled herself, trying to keep her wand steady. She thought of going to Honeydukes with Harry and Ron, laughing as the boys took turns eating exploding chocolates. The laughs that they would share, it was one of her favorite memories...

“Expecto Patronum!” She cried again, and thankfully the otter came once more. It was weaker this time, it's glow was dimming. As she spent more time exposed to the Dementors’ aura, her happy memories seemed to fade in her mind. She probably only had a handful of minutes before her memories left her completely… 

“Get up! Dennis!” She screamed in frustration and stooped to wrap one of his arms around her shoulder. She wanted to cast another levitation charm, but she knew she had to conserve her magic. She hobbled as fast as she could back to the nearest shop, half dragging the poor boy. She unceremoniously dumped him next to the third year girl. He turned on his side and curled into a tight ball once again.

“Don't go back out,” someone pleaded but Hermione pushed herself back up and left the safe haven of the shop. She heard screams coming from the small church across the square. Had nobody enchanted a ward? It was swarming with dementors. Where on earth were the teachers? Why hadn't any Aurors shown up yet? Why did it feel like it was just her? Even the other members of the DA were nowhere to be seen! 

“Expecto Patronum!” She cried once more, voice hoarse. As she cast the spell, she squeezed her eyes shut and thought of her first Christmas at the Burrow. That break had been the time she had received her very first Molly Weasley Sweater. Although it was too small for her now, it was one of her most treasured possessions. The otter was flickering, but still a corporeal patronus, and she sighed in panicked relief as he swam through the air and scattered the monsters once again. 

She ran across the street and towards the church, heart hammering wildly in her chest. This patronus wouldn't last. It was fading quickly. She had no time to save the kids trapped in the cathedral.

“Alohomora!” she cried at the massive door and it flew open, scaring the half a dozen students inside. When they saw who it was a few of them started crying in relief. “We have to go now! Run to Honeydukes.” 

They didn't need to be told twice. They ran past her, slipping on the icy steps and out across the cobblestone street. Hermione moved to follow close behind them, but her limbs suddenly felt sluggish. 

It was as if she was wading through a thick swamp, and her vision was narrowing as a frozen cold seeped deep into her bones… she realized dimly what had happened… Her otter, he had disintegrated, leaving her at the mercy of the dementors. She could feel them breathing down her back as she stumbled away as fast as she could. It felt as though it was slow motion… she misjudged one of her steps and her foot slipped beneath her. She fell forward and her wand tumbled out of her grasp. It clattered loudly to the ground and she felt her lungs constrict. One was hovering above her… She could see the tattered edges of its black cloak in her peripheral vision. She flipped around until she was facing upwards, and she stretched her arms upwards in a last ditch attempt to defend herself.

Hermione had always imagined she would die comfortably in bed as an old woman, surrounded by her loved ones. It hadn’t occurred to her that her life could end tragically, just a young girl of eighteen… She had also never imagined it would have been at the hands of dementors, but she supposed life was full of cruel surprises.

“Expecto PATRONUM!” She heard dimly and the pressure, as if she had been under a hundred feet of water, was lifted. She could breathe again, but she couldn't lift herself up.

“Up, Hermione, up!” She heard Ginny say and something inside of her snapped to attention. She pushed herself up and into a sitting position, watching in removed fascination as three shimmering patronuses danced around her, chasing away the horrible creatures. Harry’s stag, Ginny’s hare, and Ron’s terrier, they were all glowing bright and created a bubble of security. Harry and Ron were focusing on the spells as hard as they could while Ginny let her hare hop from roof to roof, fading slowly. The Weasley girl pulled Hermione up and lead her away from the square and into a pub where dozens of people were seeking refuge inside.

“Hermione!” She heard a familiar voice say as Ginny placed her in front of the fireplace before running back out to assist her brother and boyfriend. She registered someone wrapping her up in a blanket and thrusting something warm into her hands.

“Drink, Hermione,” the voice ordered and she obeyed. It was hot, sweet and smooth and went down her throat like a sweet caress. She wasn't sure what was in it but she felt immediately better. It was then that she was able to blink and focus her eyes on the crowd before her.

Blaise was kneeling in front of her, a worried look in his eye while a crowd of students looked on from behind him. Hermione looked down and saw that the drink was a mug of hot cocoa. She took another drink before putting it down on the table next to her. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, trembling violently. She couldn’t stop shaking… She didn’t simply feel the cold… she was the cold. 

“How do you feel?” Zabini asked, rubbing her hands between his in an attempt to warm them up. “Your hands are frigid..”

That reminded her of something… Draco. Hermione sat up, thrust into painful awareness of everything around her and the chaos that was happening outside. Where was Draco? She stood up suddenly, the blanket slipping off her shoulders as she rushed over to the window. She could see her friends, a few other members of the DA, the teachers who had attended and a few shopkeepers combatting the Dementors. She couldn’t see Draco anywhere. 

She turned around and scanned the faces in the pub, he wasn’t in here either. Her stomach twisted in fear as she turned back to the outside world. He was out there… he didn’t know how to cast a patronus charm.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Blaise asked.

“I have to go back out,” she said and moved towards the door. 

“Woah woah woah, absolutely not,” he said, grabbing hold of her arm. “You almost had your soul bloody sucked out of your body. You should stay inside until Dumbledore gets here and handles it.”

“You don’t understand! I have to!” she said through gritted teeth and tried to yank her arm free. 

“We all saw you save that girl and Collin… You’ve already done your part. You’re already a hero,” he stressed, not understanding her motives.

“Let me go!” she cried.

“Why? What on earth is so important that you have to go out there? You were almost killed, Hermione! At least stay here for me,” he said, trying his best to keep her inside. 

“Draco’s out there!” She blurted, tears filling her eyes, “he’s out there and he doesn’t know how to cast a patronus… I have to go find him.”

The shocked and hurt expression that flickered on her boyfriends face was only momentary, but his grip on her arm slackened enough that she could get away. She flew out of the building and back into the battlefield, a single boy on her mind.

 

* * *

 

Draco didn't realize what was happening until he heard the screams. He was walking back to the school, but keeping to the side paths and alleys because he didn't want to bump into anyone he knew. He was already feeling so bitterly cold and incredibly miserable that he didn’t even notice the presence of the Dementors at first. 

The screams were the red flag, but the reality of the situation didn’t sink in until he rounded a corner and came face to face with one of the rotting, decrepit figures. It was only a few feet away, but had turned toward him as he rounded the corner. It was now drifting toward him, the gaping maw of its shadowed face inching closer…. Gasping in horror, Draco reflexively launched himself backwards. He almost slipped and fell onto the cobblestone lane, but he managed to keep himself upright as he stumbled back the way he came: he knew that if he slipped it would mean the end.

He had never really come face to face with a dementor before, so the intense emotional reaction shook him to his core. Now that one was so close, he realized that he had never known  _ true _ misery. Sure, he was a generally unhappy person, but there was always something that kept him going. Now, though, he could feel the will to live slowly leaking from his bones. Despair,  _ pure _ despair, settled onto his chest and shoulders like a crushing weight.

Despite everything, Draco managed to keep moving away from the creature. It drifted toward him at a slow pace, like a predator toying with cornered prey. Draco was panicking, searching his memory for the charm that he had heard everyone talking about during his third year, the one that was effective against the creatures. For the life of him (literally, he might have mused had his mind not been an abyss of fatigue and misery) he couldn’t remember the name of the spell or how to cast it. Resigning himself to his failure and gathering as much willpower as he possibly could, Draco cast a basic Protego charm across the length of the alley as he stumbled back towards one of the main streets. He watched in horror as the dementor simply floated up and over the barrier, continuing unperturbed.  

He finally made it back to one of the larger streets, the dementor still in inexorable pursuit. He managed to tear his gaze from the floating, tattered cloak and survey his surroundings. As he looked frantically from building to building, his heart leapt to his throat. As he watched, several other Dementors drifted out from shops and from behind buildings, as if summoned by his gaze and plight. As he saw any chance of escape disappear, Draco slowed to a dubious stop. 

He had known he was in grave danger before, but having the open alley behind him had prevented him from losing all hope. Now, with Dementors closing in from all sides, Draco Malfoy realized that he was about to die. No longer able to gather enough energy to remain standing, he sunk to his knees. He was beyond sadness, beyond any emotion; his mind was simply fading to an empty black. As he stared at the flagstones beneath him, he fixated on one of the many small specks of dirt. Wasn’t that all he was? A single speck of dirt, meaningless and without value, unnoticed on the vast expanse of the world? As the Dementors began to crowd around him, he slowly leaned back until he was laying on the ground. He felt nothing, not the cold, none of the panic that had just seemed so overwhelming, none of the guilt over Hermione that had been eating him alive for the past weeks. For a moment, he thought about her. He felt only one thing, for only a second--a flicker of annoyance at himself. He had ruined the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him, and it had happened… so fast… 

 

* * *

 

Hermione had to do something. She had to save him. She could see the shock of pale blonde hair through the billowing black capes… He was on the ground, passed out. She could see his soul being pulled from him. He was going to die… Draco was going to die right then and there if she didn’t do something; she had to cast another patronus to save him. The only problem was that she was absolutely drained.

They had really only been close for about month; compared to her past six years with her fellow Gryffindors, it didn’t seem like very long. Regardless, she knew that if he died, if she had to watch the life be literally sucked out of him right in front of her, she wouldn't ever be okay. So with her wand gripped tightly in her hand with her arm stretched out, Hermione Granger closed her eyes and tried to conjure something...anything that would make her feel some semblance of love and joy…With her mind still on Draco, she didn’t have to think for long before a memory of Draco sound asleep, face first in his text book as a small trail of drool flickered in the firelight. Draco giving her his notes before an exam, and then the look of incredulity followed by gratefulness when she corrected a core piece of information that he had written incorrectly. Draco sitting next to her in the room of requirement, a comfortable silence laying warm and heavy on them as they read. Draco’s eyes meeting hers in the middle of charms class, trading thoughts from across the classroom. Draco winking at her as they passed one another in the hall. She thought of Draco clinging to her as she sobbed into his robes that night in the forbidden forest, the sense of inexplicable safety and support that she had never expected to find in  _ those _ arms. 

Finally, a thought so much stronger than the rest pushed its way to the forefront of her mind: Draco laughing genuinely for the first time, a teasing glint in his blue-grey eyes. She was struck by how new, how surprising it had been. She remembered how good and happy she felt in that moment. There was something unique, something moving about make him laugh. A single moment of joy… comfort… friendship…. As long as she was there for him, he would never be alone again, and neither would she. With Draco, she felt a true bond, that she never wanted to lose.

That security, that knowledge that somebody truly knew her and still wanted to be her friend, she never wanted to stop feeling it. Her heart was flooded with affection, raw emotion and joy coursing through her veins. With the sound of Draco’s laugh in her heart, she opened her mouth and screamed “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” She opened her eyes, blinking through tears to see half a dozen Dementors blasted away from her patronus, which was shining brighter than it ever had. 

After launching itself toward the mass of them, the otter stood protectively on Draco’s  robed body, hissing as the creatures fled. Hermione ran toward the limp boy, wiping her face on the sleeve of her robe as she approached.

She knelt down into the snow and gathered him into her arms. When his eyes remained closed, panic struck through her. He wasn't moving... Why wasn't he moving?

“Draco, wake up,” She pleaded, placing a trembling hand on his cheek. Was she too late? He was white as snow, his head lolling backwards. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she felt as though she was going to puke. She had been too late. 

At this realization Hermione began to cry. She wished she had known sooner that he was in danger. She could have saved him. Sobs began to rack her body as she clutched at the boy. _ Please, Merlin. Please. Don’t take him from me.  _

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Dumbledore and the aurors had arrived, relieving the DA of their defensive positions. That was when Harry, Ron and Ginny realized Hermione was nowhere to be found. After searching for half an hour they had found her knelt in the snow. She was hunched over Draco, obscuring him from view.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, voice wary, “are you okay?”

She was deathly still, and made no sign that she heard him. 

“Hermione?” Ginny asked and slowly made her way over to her friend, snow crunching

beneath her feet. “...Who is that?”

Ginny edged closer and peeked over Hermione’s shoulder. When she saw who it was cradled in her friend’s arms she gasped aloud.

“Harry, it’s Malfoy,” she said, urgency lacing her words. “I think he’s been kissed.”

“Ron, go get help,” Harry ordered and Ron, looking quite pale, rushed away.

Ginny knelt down in the snow, studying her friends face. Hermione’s cheeks were streaked with tears, eyes staring vacantly ahead. It was quite an unnerving thing to see, as the brightest Witch of her Age, no matter how difficult or trying times became, was always present. But now Ginny could see that her friend was a million miles away. She wanted to say something, to bring Hermione back to the present, to make things better. 

“Someone is coming to help,” was all she could bring herself to say. “It’ll be okay.”

“I was too late,” Hermione whispered after a long pause. She looked up at her redhead friend, “I couldn’t save him.”

It was then that her face crumpled into grief once more, her stony sorrow taking a back seat to fresh sadness. Ginny wrapped her up in her arms, blinking tears from her own eyes. Hermione’s pain was tangible, and it was easy for her friend to empathise.

Harry, despite his lifelong rivalry with Malfoy, was not immune to his friend’s pain either, and his heart felt like lead. He looked from the two grieving girls and down to the boy in question.

Something stirred in Harry’s stomach at the sight of the blonde boy: while he did look dangerously pale and very near death, Harry was suddenly struck with the feeling that Draco was not quite dead. He had seen enough death to know what it looked like. With a spark of hope, he immediately knelt down in front of Hermione, placing two fingers on Draco’s neck. He closed his eyes and focused on finding any sign of life… There! Just below the porcelain skin of his neck, was the thud of life. It was weak, but _ Merlin _ , it was there. 

“There’s a pulse!” Harry announced, pulling his finger from the Slytherin boys neck. He looked to Ginny and Hermione, “he’s alive.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Draco Malfoy was no stranger to nightmares. They had plagued him all his life, increasing in frequency and intensity once he been given the unspeakable task of murdering his headmaster and the most powerful wizard alive. He had dreamt about many horrid things: his mother being murdered in cold blood by masked men, his father’s hands choking the life from him, and the Dark Lord torturing his friends while he was powerless to do anything. Yet, this nightmare seemed to trump them all. It seemed as though it was real, he could feel the cold breeze and the snow crunching beneath his boots. He was walking through the back alleys of Hogsmeade when half a dozen dementors began chasing him. His body was slow and sluggish, moving as though he was in a deep pool of frozen water. 

When he finally awoke, the heavy and draping curtains of his deep sleep finally being pulled back, the first thing he noticed was warmth enveloping his hand. This was because the rest of his body was frighteningly cold... He looked around him: he was in the infirmary and there were about a dozen students lying on the beds around him.  _ What on earth had happened?! _

He looked down to investigate the warmth pressing against his palm: it was a hand wrapped loosely around his own. His gaze travelled up the arm to find Hermione Granger, fast asleep, head resting and cushioned on her arm that was draped across the nightstand next to his bed. He wasn’t sure what was happening, why he was there or why Hermione was sleeping in such an uncomfortable place, but he found himself not caring. He watched her face, fascinated by how sweet and soft her features were in sleep. He had never seen her unconscious before, and the way her lashes graced the tops of her rosy cheeks made his heart clench. She was so beautiful. So bloody beautiful. 

“Granger,” Draco said, voice no more than a whisper. When she didn’t respond, he gave her hand a light squeeze. “Wake up.”

She stirred, giving him a sleepy, unintelligible murmur. It was so cute that his lips involuntarily turned up into a grin. He couldn’t stop the hand-- the one that was not holding hers-- from gravitating towards her face and gently sweeping a stray hair away. That contact did it: her eyes fluttered open, focusing on her surroundings. When she looked up and saw Draco’s gaze boring into her own, she sucked air into her lungs. Consciousness and realization of their situation came back to her like a bludger in her stomach. 

“Draco!” She cried, “you’re awake!” 

“It appears as though I am,” he responded humorously, despite his exhaustion and confusion.

“You were almost killed,” Hermione said breathlessly, eyes searching his face for any sign of sickness or fatigue. He looked good, the color had returned to his face, and his eyes, despite having dark circles beneath them, had the spark of life. 

“By who?” he asked, alarmed at the news. Was that why he was in the infirmary? He simply couldn’t recall anything. 

“Dementors,” the Gryffindor girl responded, tears filling her eyes, “they tried to kiss you.”

It was then that Draco realized his nightmares had not been nightmares… but real life. He really had been attacked by Dementors… He really had been inches from death, watching helplessly as his soul was being sucked out. He sank into his bed, the realization of his own delicate mortality weighing down on him. He stared at the tall, arched ceiling in disbelief and shock.

“...How am I.. still here?” he asked, heart hammering inside of his chest as the visions of the dementors flashed through his mind.

“It was chaos. There were so many dementors and they were attacking people. And I- I found you, one was about to kiss you,” Hermione began telling him the horror she had found him in, and the tears spilled down and onto her cheeks. “I was so scared, Draco. I knew I had to do something. I had already cast my patronus three times, and I was so tired. I was afraid I had no more magic to help you.”

Draco watched Hermione as she recounted the story, voice quivering and eyes downcast. Had this really happened? Had she really saved him?

“But I did it!” she said and smiled through her tears, giving him a relieved, sad laugh, “I cast my patronus and chased them all away... but when I got to you, you wouldn’t wake up. I thought you were dead, Draco,” as she said this she brought her gaze back up to the boy in question. “It was awful. I thought I’d lost you.”

As the scene became real in his mind, he was finding it quite hard to breathe. Had Hermione mourned him when she thought he was gone? Had she grieved over him the way a woman would over a lost love? His stomach twisted as he watched the tears slip down her face and he knew- deep down- that she had. One of his deepest fears was that when he died no one but his mother and father would mourn. No one would miss him. No one would cry over the empty shell of his body.

But now he had proof that someone would have been affected by his permanent departure, and she was sitting right in front of him. It was in that moment that he admitted to himself what he had known deep down for weeks: he did not want to live without Hermione Granger. 

Overcome with emotion, Draco knew he had to thank her. He just didn’t know how. What words could convey what he was feeling? She had thrown herself in harm's way in order to save his life… What could he say? She was watching his face, her brown eyes searching for something. Without pausing to think, Draco brought a finger underneath Hermione’s chin and closed the space between their lips. 

She was so soft, and her intoxicating smell enveloped him. He had dreamed about such a moment for months, but his dreams couldn’t even touch what the reality was: bloody perfect. 

“Pardon me for interrupting,” a soft voice spoke up from the edge of the room, and Hermione pulled away from Draco, face burning a deep shade of maroon. Dumbledore stood in the doorway, and Hermione stood to face him, chair scraping against the ground roughly. 

“Professor! W-we were just-” she began to splutter, but the ancient man held up a hand, signalling for her silence.

“It is no matter. There is an urgent meeting currently underway in my office about the regretful incident yesterday,” he told her, walking over to Draco’s bed. “Mr. Zabini is there with the rest of the faculty. They will be discussing increased security precautions. I will be following you up shortly…”

“Yes Professor, I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” Hermione said a little breathlessly and stepped quickly out of the room. Draco watched her leave, a strange mix of desire and regret churning in the pit of his stomach. He turned his gaze onto the older man, suddenly weary. 

“I’m tremendously relieved that you are awake,” Dumbledore said, studying the bedridden boy from over his half moon spectacles, “It is very rare that someone survives a Dementor attack at such a level…”

It was then that a glimmer of mischief sparkled in the Headmaster’s eyes.

“Ms. Granger seemed quite relieved, too,” he supplied, looking toward the door she had just left from.

Draco wasn’t sure what to say… Their headmaster had just witnessed something that the two of them hadn’t even been able to comprehend yet. There were no words.

“Get some rest, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, nearing closer to Draco’s bedside and placing a warm hand on his shoulder, “It would also be wise to lay low these next few days. I’m afraid that things have taken a rather grave turn.”

* * *

Despite it being the early hours of the morning and the fact that she had only managed an hour or two of sleep, Hermione had never felt so awake before in her life: her cheeks were hot, her fingers and toes were tingling, and the place where he had touched on her face was pulsating with an electric energy. As she made her way to Dumbledore’s office, her fingers grazed her lips... Had they really kissed? Had Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy really been caught snogging by their Headmaster? In what alternate universe had she found herself in?

She had suspected that he had begun to feel a semblance of the attraction that she had felt towards him… he would sometimes show it in the way he would stare at her or in the way he would tease her, but never in a million years would she have suspected that his feelings had gotten so intense. Or  _ hers, _ for that matter. She hadn’t exactly pulled away… In fact, the kiss had enthralled her, curling her toes and quickening the pace of her heart. She had been acutely aware of the way his lips felt against hers, the way he had gently tilted her chin up, and the split second their noses had brushed before they had been interrupted. 

It had been like nothing she had ever experienced; not with Ron or Blaise or even Krum. She knew it had been wrong… She was still dating Blaise, but she knew deep down that if Dumbledore hadn’t spoken up they would still be kissing at that very moment. The thought scared her and excited her, her stomach filling with butterflies as she imagined it. 

What did this mean for them? Were they just going to pretend it didn’t happen? Or would they pick up where they left off next time they met?

_ “Sherbert Lemon,”  _ she whispered to the stone statue outside of Dumbledore's office, wondering what the meeting would be about. She waited anxiously as the towering Griffin turned in its place, the staircase rising from the floor. There were so many things in her head, and as she made her way up, she wondered how she would be able to focus on whatever message they wanted to relay to her. 

“-positively too dangerous.”

“This is just what they want!” 

“So we’ll just let them scare us, beat us down until we hide away? Lose all hope?”

“This isn't a game, Mr. Zabini. These are lives. Children’s lives,” Mcgonagall’s voice echoed down to her, arguing with the room full of faculty. Hermione could feel the tension in the room as she entered. Everyone looked to her as she closed the door behind her.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” her favorite old teacher greeted her, she was polite, but the usual warmth was gone. “Please, sit down.” 

“I thought we wouldn’t negotiate with death-eaters,” Blaise said, only pausing momentarily to cast a sideways glance in Hermione’s direction as she made her way to the seat next to his. She looked down at her shoes, suddenly remembering their last encounter. 

“It is not a negotiation, Blaise,” Professor Slughorn interjected, “it is merely a precaution.”

“A precaution?” He scoffed incredulously, “a precaution would be posting more guards. Casting more protection charms. Hiring some Aurors. Cancelling the formal entirely is letting them win.”

“Wait,” Hermione interjected, “you’re cancelling it? Why?” 

“Hermione, you of all people should know just how precarious having an event such as this will be… Especially after yesterday's attacks,” professor Flitwick explained and Hermione’s heart sank. They had a point… she had seen just how a nice day out with fun and laughter could turn dark so quickly. She shivered at the memories… they were on the brink of war. She supposed it was the only logical idea.

“No, no! Absolutely not. This is bollocks,” Blaise said, voice cutting through her internal gloom. He pointed to the door of the office, “those kids have been looking forward to this for the last year. In all of these months of the papers spreading nothing but bad news and fear and rumors, you want to take the only bright light away from them? From us?”

Hermione looked at the Slytherin boy. His hand was trembling slightly; he was obviously  mad, but she could also tell that- despite his charade of confidence- he was scared. She had never heard him disagree with his head of house, let alone their professors. Blaise had always been a very agreeable- albeit prideful- student, and that had kept him away from raising any conflict. She could see the shock in the faces of her professors. No one had expected this.

“Mr. Zabini, I would like to remind you that we invited you and Miss Granger here merely as a formality. You are the heads of the student body, so it is only natural that you stay informed. But you are not here to give us your opinion, and this is not open for debate or discussion. Our decision has been finalized,” Mcgonagall said in a tone that said that she would not be discussing this further. Hermione bit her lip, and her gaze dropped to her wrinkled skirt. Even with her eyes averted, she could see Blaise look to her from the corner of her eye.

“What? You’re okay with this?” he asked, and she looked up in surprise. She had definitely not been expecting a call-out, and she must have looked as dumb-struck as she felt, because he laughed cruelly. 

“I should have known you didn’t give a fuck about the formal, or anyone,” he said and Hermione felt as though she had been cut.

“Blaise!” Slughorn gasped.

“Language, Mr. Zabini,” Mcgonagall chided. 

“All you’ve ever cared about was Draco  _ Fucking _ Malfoy,” he said and stood suddenly from his chair, causing it to tip back and crash to the floor. Hermione jumped in surprise. He stormed from the room, leaving a shocked silence in his wake.

His words were sinking in, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle on the floor. She had known that their last encounter had been… unpleasant, but in the chaos of everything, it had been pushed to the back of her mind. 

As Hermione simmered in the anger left behind by Blaise, she realized fully what she had done: she had unwittingly confessed her feelings about Draco Malfoy to the person who was supposed to be her boyfriend. 

For the last twenty four hours, her only concern had been Draco and if he would be alright. Now she knew that he would be alright... Her fear was gone and had been replaced with a crippling guilt. Not to mention that she now had the unfortunate circumstance of a room full of adults staring at her, having obviously heard about how she had spent the night holding Draco Malfoy’s hand. They knew something was going on, but they were too polite to ask or say anything.

Hermione’s mouth opened, preparing to explain herself, but it closed once again. What could she possibly say to these people about her personal life? She supposed it wasn’t their place to know anything about her romantic escapades at all, and once she had firmly reminded herself of that fact, she stood up from her spot. 

“I’m sorry Professor Mcgonagall… but I agree with Blaise,” she said, voice shaking. She hadn’t been prepared to fight them in the same way her boyfriend had, but there was a small voice in the back of her head that had been telling her that he was right. That courage propelled her forward, “Yes, perhaps it would be safer to cancel. But wouldn’t it also be safer to just send everyone home today?”

They were silent.

“We could send everyone home today and cancel school and hide, praying and hoping that they won’t find us,” she continued on, clenching the bottom of her skirt in her fists. “That would be the logical thing to do. But is it the best thing? Is that a life worth living?”

The professors in the room looked at one another, for once, speechless. Hermione swallowed hard, trying her best not to cry.

“I know that I’m just a student. I know that this wasn’t open for debate… but I really hope you come to a different conclusion,” she said and stepped quickly from the room. Once she had clicked the door shut behind her, she broke out into a run. She flew down the steps two at a time, heart pounding painfully in her chest.

She ran down the corridor and towards their shared common room. She had to find him and talk to him. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she couldn’t let him storm away like that. 

“Blaise!” she called as she turned the corner to find him heading up the staircase. He paused and turned, and even from several feet away, she could see the hurt in his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked as she skidded to a halt in front of him.

“What you said wasn’t true,” she said,  “I do care about the formal. I do care about everyone.”

“Really? I was lying? Are you actually trying to tell me that you  _ don’t _ care about Draco Malfoy?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. 

Hermione’s face warmed.

“No, that part was true,” she admitted and he turned to head back up the stairs. She began to follow him.

“I should have known,” he said and shrugged as he reached the top of the steps, “You fancy him. You have for a while.”

Her mouth hung open as she tried to search for the words that could make it better. Anything at all. But nothing came.

Once they reached their portrait, he stopped. He didn’t turn around to look at her.

“You don’t deny it,” he said, sounding more tired than she had ever heard him. “You were with him this whole time.”

“Blaise- please,” she stammered, “it wasn’t like that... I didn’t even know he liked me until-”

“Until?” He asked, turning around, eyes bearing into hers. “Until when?”

She had to look away from his intense gaze.

“I- I don’t know. Yesterday, I suppose. I had known that his feelings had changed, but I had no idea he liked me. Nothing happened when we studied, I promise you,” she said.

He stared at her for a while, mouth set in a tight line. If looks could cut, she would be bleeding to death.

“And what about  _ your  _ feelings? You left the pub to find him…. you left me,” he reminded her, “you went out into all of that danger for a boy who called you a mudblood for the last six years. He treated you like absolute rubbish.”

“He doesn’t use that word anymore. He’s changed,” she whispered. Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting.   
“What are we doing here, Hermione?” he asked, “Do you even want to keep going?”

She wiped at her face with the ends of her sweater sleeves.

“No, I don’t think I do,” she whispered. 

Hurt flashed through Blaise’s dark eyes and Hermione felt rotten. He had been an amiable companion, and she had no complaints about their time spent together… He had kept her company, brewing her tea and studying with her. They had discussed life and politics and school. She was fond of him, but she didn't love him. 

“Okay,” he said, voice trembling for the first time that whole morning, “I guess it's over then.” 

Hermione nodded, and like a faucet being turned on, tears began pouring from her eyes. “I guess so.”

They stared at one another. And despite the curtain of sadness draping over both of them, Hermione felt several pounds lighter. It was hard, but it had been the right thing to do.

“Well, that was quite a show… that I never wanted to watch,” a voice said and they both looked to the painting covering their home. The man inside was leaning against his blossoming cherry tree, a poetry book in hand and a snide look on his face, “Do you want to enter or not?”

“Yes,” Blaise sighed tiredly,  _ “Gillyweed.” _

“That's the old password,” Hermione reminded him, sniffling.

“I don’t remember the new one,” he told her.

“For the love of Merlin, just go in and spare me anymore of your drama,” the painting snapped and swung open, breathing a sigh of disgust. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: okay so i’m a really dumb child and i forgot that a dementor’s kiss does not mean death, but a brain death leaving the victim in a vegetative state. For brevity and for flow in my lil world it means death so everyone just pretend i got it right and lets move on (also none of my betas caught it either so i’m not the only fake fan lol)
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and leave kind (or mean) words because things are moving along because hermione is like “BYE FELICIA” to blaise and i just think that's really wonderful


	17. Chapter 17

“Mr. Malfoy, get back into bed at once,” Mademoiselle Claire snapped, heels clicking on the ground as she stepped from her office and toward her charge. The new healer was a young French woman, and she had caught Draco in the middle of his mad dash out of the infirmary. He had been there all day with the other dozen kids who had been attacked the prior day at Hogsmeade, and to be honest, he was starting to get itchy. As the day had gone on, the young healer had looked them over one by one and dismissed every single one of them. That is, except for Draco. The school day was ending and he was still holed up in this bloody infirmary. He was going crazy...  He had never liked staying in bed, even when he was younger.

“Mademoiselle Claire, I’m fine. I wanted to make it to my last class.” He sighed and turned around to finish his escape. He was definitely  _ not _ intending to sneak off to advanced Herbology, and was about to go search for Hermione, but he would never tell her that.

“I wish you luck explaining that to Professor Dumbledore,” she said in her thick accent,  crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “He was the one who insisted you stay longer than the other students.” That stopped him. He couldn’t go against the headmaster’s wishes. He clenched his fists.

“This is fucking rubbish,” he snapped and threw down his bag. 

“Use any more language like that and I’ll keep you here longer,” she said, mouth set in a tight, firm line. Although she was much younger and a lot less experienced than Pomfrey, she wasn’t any less of a hard arse. If anything, she was harder to try and fool, as she had a sharp, young ear and a sixth sense for any sort of mischief. 

“Fine,” he barked, throwing himself back on his bed and kicking off his shoes. “Happy?”

“Quite,” she said and nodded in approval. It was then that the door at the end of the long room groaned open. 

“Pardon me,” Hermione’s voice chimed sweetly as her head poked into view. Draco’s heart started to beat a little faster. “I have Draco’s school work he missed today. Is it alright if I review it with him?”

“Oh, Hermione! Of course, darling. Come right in,” Mademoiselle Claire called and smiled warmly as Hermione approached Draco’s bed. He almost laughed. It was honestly ridiculous, the stark change in the healer’s mood. Like every other teacher in the school, she adored Hermione and hated him. “Do you think it would be safe to leave you in his care while I run to a meeting? I’m afraid he’s already tried to make an escape.”

Hermione gave Draco a sly smile before turning her attention to the healer.

“I can assure you, he will behave with me,” she said.

It wasn’t until after she had left the room that Hermione sat down on the stool next to his cot. The last time she had been sitting there, they had kissed. They looked at one another and Draco wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” he responded and turned to face her until his legs were almost bumping hers. He was no longer lying down, and he was—thankfully this time around—fully dressed and not in the pajamas the healer had provided for him.  She grinned and the slight upturn of the corner of her mouth drove him mad. Merlin, he wanted to kiss her again, and he idly wondered if he could. Would he get away with it? That morning he had caught her off guard, and he wasn’t sure if she would let him do it again. After all, she was still dating Zabini.

“How are you feeling?” She asked after a few moments of silence.

With that, he refocused his thoughts.

“Better. What do you have for me?”

“Not a lot, actually. Most of the professors decided to take the day to talk about yesterday… They wanted to make sure we spoke about our experiences… got it out of our systems, I guess,” she said and raised her eyebrows in a subtle show of incredulity. “As if one day would be enough time to get over it.”

“You just wanted to see me, didn’t you, Granger?” he teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I- well, yes. In fact, I did come to see you,” she mumbled, face warming, “I wanted to talk to you about what happened… what happened this morning.”

Draco studied her. Her eyes were downcast, and she seemed to shrink down in size. His heart sank; she didn’t look like a girl who was happily and giddily recalling a first kiss. She looked mortified and regretful. What had he done? A split, impulsive decision like that would, of course, have negative effects.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he blurted suddenly, and she looked up in shock, “I wasn’t myself. I had just woken up. I didn’t know what was real and what was a dream.”

Draco didn’t know why he took everything back. Perhaps he wanted to preserve what they had. He was afraid she would push him away. 

Hermione was stunned. This was not what she had been expecting. Was he… telling her it was a mistake? Did he regret it? Her stomach twisted painfully.

“You didn’t want to kiss me?” she asked, and he was taken back by her blunt question. How could he answer that? If he said yes, she would have to stop talking to him. She would have to stop healing him. If he said no, not only would he be lying, but he would probably hurt her feelings and she would be embarrassed and angry. He was trapped. Fuck.

“Draco,” she whispered, “did you want to kiss me?”

He looked at her for a few moments, trying to decide was he should say. As his eyes searched hers, mere inches away from his own, he realized he didn’t want to lie. Even if she had to stop being around him, even if she would choose conserving her romantic relationship with Blaise over their friendship, he felt he would burst if he didn’t tell her the truth. 

“Yes,” he breathed. 

“Do you regret it?” she asked.

He shook his head. 

“Do you want to to kiss me now?” Her voice was quiet, and he could have sworn it was raspy with desire. His eyes flicked down to her lips to see them parted slightly, almost as if an invitation. 

“Yes,” he said and leant forward and captured her mouth once more. It was even more blissful than their first kiss. She was more receptive this time, now that she wasn’t caught off guard. His hands came up to caress her face and run his fingers through her hair. Her skin was so smooth, her lips so soft.

Yesterday he had almost died. He had almost been killed before he had been able to do this. He was so fucking glad he was still here. Everything in his life was shit, but Merlin, this alone was something to keep living for.

She surprised him when she managed to not break the kiss while she rose from her spot on the stool and—Salazar save him—climbed onto his lap. He had never known her to be so bold.

“Draco,” she half whispered and half moaned. That did it. He was gone, lost in Hermione Granger. Her smell, her taste, her touch, her sounds. He buried his hands in her wild hair and deepened the kiss. She accepted his advances, and in the back of his head, he thought of his former best friend. Why was Hermione doing this if she was dating Blaise? 

He pulled away, breaking the kiss.

“What?” she asked.

“Zabini?” he responded and she shook her head.

“We broke up,” she told him, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. “This morning, after the meeting.”

“Why?” he asked, dumbstruck.

“Because I want to be with you,” she leaned forward and whispered against his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”

And with hearing that, the scenario had turned into everything he had ever dreamed of, and he let himself fall back into the intoxicating kiss. He couldn’t believe it was really happening. He should almost die more often if this is what came of it!

“Can I ask you something?” she asked once she had pulled away. “When did you start... you know?”

“Wanting to kiss you?” he supplied, brain fuzzy. She smiled and bit her lip in response, nodding. His mind was clouded with lust, and he hadn’t really registered her question. He pulled her close once more, but she pulled away again.

“I’m serious Draco! I’m curious,” she laughed. “When did you realize you liked me?”

With a sharp, disturbing clarity, the image of Hermione, topless and vulnerable, flashed through his mind. It was like a bucket of freezing cold water poured on top of him. He had almost forgotten about what he had done all of those weeks ago, and he felt as though he was going to puke. 

“Get off of me,” he said suddenly, her touch had gone from soothing him to burning him and searing his nerves. Her eyes widened, shocked, and then she laughed nervously, as if it was a joke. “Please, Hermione.” 

When she realized he wasn’t joking, she clambered off of him. Her face was burning a bright red. She thought it had been going well. What on earth had changed?

“Why?” she asked. The hurt lacing her words was unmistakable, and he couldn’t look at her standing awkwardly in front of him. “I thought you wanted this.”

Draco ran his hands through his hair, unable to speak.

“What’s wrong?” She pressed.

“This,” he said motioning to the space between them. “This is wrong.”

“Why?” she asked, and when he didn't respond right away, she jumped to conclusions. “Because I’m a muggle born? Because my blood isn’t ‘pure’? I thought you had changed! I told Blaise you’d changed!”

He looked at her, eyes wide. Despite his purist upbringing and his spotty past with muggle borns, her blood had barely even occurred to him in the last month. It dimly registered how significant that was and how much he had changed in the last few weeks, but that took a back seat. He couldn't let her think it was because of something as insignificant as that! 

“Bloody hell, Hermione! No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?!” she asked, her voice rising in panic and frustration. 

Fuck. He had to tell her.

“Look, if I tell you, will you promise not to be angry with me?” he asked and she furrowed her eyebrows in concern. 

“What are you trying to say?” she demanded.

“Promise me?” he pleaded, reaching out to her.

“Tell me!” she barked, stepping away from his touch.

“Fuck! Okay!” he exclaimed, standing up and walking away from her. He couldn’t look at her when he told her the truth. He was such a bloody coward.

“Look, I know about the potions you were brewing with Madame Pomfrey,” he said, heart pounding in his chest. He stared hard at the cobblestone floor. “I know about how your period was really… irregular.”

Hermione stared at his back, her mind churning with the news. Yes, it was slightly unsettling, mostly embarrassing, that he knew of those things. But Merlin, it wasn't grounds for being so upset. He had been naturally suspicious of her doing those days, so she wasn't surprised in the least he had poked around to find answers.

“So?” She said, not getting it. “What's so wrong about that?”

“I also know about how your… Chest was developing,” he choked out, and he couldn't believe he was actually trying to tell her.

Once again, Hermione found this uncomfortable and it made her blush, but it didn't explain his behavior. 

“I was there that night,” he admitted, turning around and forcing himself to look her in the eyes. “During the breast exam.” 

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I saw everything,” he said. “I was Pomfrey that night.”

“You… You were  _ Pomfrey _ ?” 

“I- I was so nervous that you were, I don't know, conspiring against me or something fucking stupid like that. I nicked some polyjuice from Slughorn’s office. I put some sleeping draught in her tea,” he was explaining the story, pacing back and forth. “I had planned to pry information from you without you knowing, but it had turned out that everything I had found out to that moment was true. You hadn't been spying on me. You had really just been doing some late night brewing with Pomfrey. I tried to get out of there by saying I was sick.” 

Hermione felt her limbs go numb, and her feet were frozen over as she watched in mute horror as he relayed that night in perfect accuracy. He was telling the truth.

“And then you kept pressing me about your tits and how they’d grown and how they hurt and how you needed me to check them. I panicked! I knew Pomfrey would have said yes, so I said yes,” he said, finally stopping and looking at her with pleading eyes. “Please don't be mad at me.”

Hermione stood still for several more moments, eyes locked onto his.

“You…” She began, her lips moving of their own accord, “you were the one who checked me that night?” 

His heart thudded painfully in his chest at her horrified expression. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Yes.”

“You didn't say anything?” She asked, and he opened his eyes once more.

“What could I have said?” Draco shot back. “Granger stop taking off your clothes, I'm actually Malfoy in Madame Pomfrey’s body?” 

Her knees started to buckle, and she maneuvered herself into the edge of the nearest cot. She put her head in her hands and focused on breathing. The room was spinning. 

“Yes, that's exactly what you could have said!” she cried, not raising her head to look at him.

“I panicked! I was too scared to tell you the truth!” He defended himself. She looked at him with fire in her eyes.

“So instead you molest me?!” she asked him and that sentence was like a knife to the jugular. That word had been bouncing around his skull since that fateful night.  _ Molest _ . Hermione looked at him with such disgust, and Draco despaired. Things had been going so well, his dreams had been coming true, now they were slipping through his fingers. He had to fix this.

“You have to understand, I was trapped!” He tried to explain herself.

“By a teenage girl? Oh my! You must have been so scared,” she practically spat. “You saw me… You touched me in ways no other boy has done before! How could you?”

“But.. I thought you and Blaise,” he spluttered and she shook her head. They hadn't been shagging? “You and Krum?”

“I'm a virgin, Malfoy!” She snapped, face burning and hands shaking. She crossed her arms over her chest and began to cry. 

When tears began spilling from her eyes, he knew he had fucked up worse than he possibly could have imagined. He approached her and dropped to his knees. It was the only way to look into her eyes, which were currently locked onto the stone floor.

“I'm so sorry, Hermione. Please understand that I had no choice,” he pleaded, trying to catch her gaze.

“That’s when you began to like me? When you saw me naked against my knowledge?”

“Not exactly,” he said, voice cracking in despair. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” she said, still not looking at him. “You should have!”

“I was afraid,” he stressed. “I didn't want you to hate me.”

Draco knew she would have reacted negatively. He had suspected she would throw some things around and scream her head off at the loss of her privacy. He had not expected for her to completely break down, but what made this worse was that he understood that it was not an overreaction. She was a virgin, without even half a notch on her bedpost. He realized then that the most she had ever done was what he had witnessed with Blaise against the corridor wall. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders and choked him, like a hot towel down his throat. 

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't derived so much pleasure from it. He had touched her and he had liked it. It was so wrong. So so wrong.

“Please Hermione,” he pleaded and scooted closer to her. He tried, once more, to reach for her hands. She pulled them away sharply.

“Don't touch me!” she snapped, and when she slid off of the bed, his heart fell to the floor. He knew it was over. It had ended before it had even begun. She picked up her bag and began moving to the door.

“Please,” was all he could say as his gaze followed her.

“There is always a choice, Malfoy,” she said and wiped at her face. “And you made yours.”

And with that, she left the room. The door slammed shut with a volume akin to funeral bells. Draco Malfoy was left utterly alone, crouched on the cold stone floor. With Hermione gone, there was no one left. 

 

* * *

 

“Hermione?” Ginny asked in alarm as her best friend stepped through the threshold and into her dorm room. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression crumpled in pain. Ginny stood up just in time to receive an armful of sobbing Hermione Granger. “What happened? What's wrong?”

The only other girl in the room looked on in concern from the edge of her bed. Ginny tilted her head in the direction of the door, signaling for some privacy. The young girl nodded in understanding and quietly made her way out. 

“Hermione, tell me,” her friend pressed and stroked her curly hair. “What happened?”

Hermione couldn't breathe, she couldn't speak. All she could do was cry. Ginny seemed to understand this, and she held her tight for a while, allowing her shoulder to become soaked with tears. 

“... Is it Draco?”

In the back of her grief-stricken mind, Hermione contemplated on telling Ginny the whole truth. She nodded. 

“Is he okay? I thought he was doing better!” Ginny stressed, imagining the worst. It was the only thing she could think of that could elicit such an emotional response from her usually level-headed friend. Hermione pulled away, wiping at her nose and face.

“No, that's not it,” she explained through hiccuping sobs and her friend was relieved. Ginny snatched some tissues from her nightstand and offered them to Hermione. She took them gratefully and spent a few seconds blowing her nose. 

“Then what happened? What did he do?” she asked, not understanding. 

Hermione opened her mouth to tell her, but nothing came out. Ginevra waited patiently, understanding that she needed a few moments. 

“I can't say it,” she said. She was too mortified. Too embarrassed. Ginny’s panic levels increased. What was Hermione saying? Did that mean..?

“Bloody hell, Hermione! Did he rape you?” she cried, and Hermione shook her head.

“No.”

“He hurt you?” 

“No!”

“What did he do!?”

“I can't say!” She choked out and began crying once more. Ginny abandoned the task of trying to understand what happened. She understood that maybe her friend couldn't tell her everything, and she would have to accept that. She was relieved that it wasn't sexual or physical abuse, it seemed as though it was a different matter entirely. Perhaps a breach of trust or a messy break up? She had suspected they had a relationship for weeks now, and it seemed as though it was ending before it even really began.

“Oh, Hermione,” she sighed and wrapped her up. She was trembling and reminded Ginny of a small child or a baby bird.

“My heart,” she gasped between sobs. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Ginny soothed her. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Draco felt like death. If he thought he had been depressed before, he didn't know what he was now. He could barely get out of bed. He decided to completely forgo a shower and threw on whatever clothes. He didn't care. There was no point.

In fact, he stood motionless and stared at his bed for a solid ten minutes. He was contemplating whether or not he should get back in, all the while his roommates tiptoeing around him. Typically, he was out the door before they even woke up and got back once they were already asleep. So just his presence alone unnerved them.

“He's finally lost it,” one of the boys murmured to the others as they left him alone. He contemplated what that meant. ‘He’s finally lost it.’

What was ‘it’? His sanity? He supposed it was only logical that he would lose that next. He had lost everything else. 

He decided that lying in bed all day would only make everything worse, as he would have nothing to distract him, so he grabbed his bag and went out the door.

When he got to his first class unsurprisingly late, his eyes zeroed in on the spot where Hermione sat. For the first time in a long time, it was empty. The only time he had ever seen Hermione Granger absent was when a.) she had been petrified by a basilisk, b.) chained to the bottom of the Hogwarts lake as bait for the Triwizard Tournament, and now apparently c.) she had her trust betrayed by Draco Malfoy. 

He sat down in his spot, wondering where she was. Perhaps she was just running late? Or perhaps she really was skipping class to avoid him. He felt rotten, and as he brought out his scrolls and quills, he really wished he had decided to stay in bed.

When the bells chimed, signaling for the end of class, she still hadn't shown up. He stood up and gathered his things, limbs heavy like lead.

He wished things had gone differently, he wished he had said something before it had been too late. Now he had lost the only good thing left in his life.

He was on his way out when he saw Ginny by the door. She was looking at him, obviously expecting to talk to him. He sighed deeply and wondered what he was in for. Probably nothing good.

“Hello.”

“I don't know what you did to her. She won't tell me,” she hissed and his suspicions were confirmed, “What did you do?”

“I think that's not my story to tell,” he mumbled.

Ginny Weasley, in all  65 inches of her glorious self, seemed to transform into a seven foot tall mama bear. She drew her wand and Draco wondered if she would try to fight him right then and there.

“Fine, but I know you hurt her, and if you come near her again I’ll fucking blind you,” she said, wand pressed hard against his chest. She looked at him with such deadly calm that he knew she was serious. He nodded dumbly and the redhead girl left.

He rubbed the spot on his chest where her wand had dug into. He almost wish she had hexed him. He would have deserved it. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty big chapter!! I love that Hermione won’t let this slide… hermione You’re doing amazing sweetie
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful BETAs LittleMissEighty-Sixed, Ericka, and Sarenia! You make my nightmarish mess of a chapter into something cohesive and I truly appreciate you… You’re doing amazing sweeties 
> 
>  
> 
> Lmao okay i’ll stop now but leave me a review to say “you’re doing amazing sweetie”


	18. Chapter 18

“Please, ‘Mione,” Harry pleaded, “come to dinner with us.”

Hermione looked up from her spot on the big couch. She was wrapped up in a thick wool blanket, and it was there that she had sat motionless most of that day, staring at the flickering flames. She would have normally hidden away in her own dorm, but considering how she was trying to avoid not only Draco, but also Blaise… It simply wasn’t an option.

She was lost in her thoughts until she realized that Harry was looking at her hopefully, Ron at his side.

“No thanks,” she said, trying to collect her scrambled thoughts enough to look like she was even slightly in the moment.

“Are you sure?” Ron asked, “you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, not looking at them. The last of the Gryffindors were trickling out, and the boys were particularly anxious. They were always hungry, but they were hesitant to leave their friend behind. She hadn’t told them anything, but they knew something was deeply wrong… For the first time in her academic career, she had skipped an entire day of class.

“We won’t go without you,” Harry said and sat next to her. 

“I’m not going,” Hermione shook her head.

“Then I guess we won’t either,” the bespectacled boy said, settling deeper into the sofa.

Ron looked at him, real fear in his eyes. Harry ignored him. 

“Come on, Hermione. Things are looking up! Aren’t you happy that they decided not to cancel the formal?” When she didn’t respond, he pressed, “Will you please tell us what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, Harry. Honestly, you two… please just go to dinner,” she said and waved them away. Ron nodded and rocked on his heels.

“See? She’s fine. Come on, mate,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the portrait. 

It was then that Ginny barged in with a pile of scrolls and books. She placed them down onto the coffee table in front of Hermione with a heavy thud.

“There it is,” she announced, “all of the work you missed. Better get started on it now, don’t you agree?” 

Hermione stared at the mountain of work, not feeling particularly keen on the prospect of poring over her missed day of reading and assignments.

“No, I’d rather not right now. Thank you, though,” she said and Ron sucked air in through his teeth.

“Okay, she’s not fine. Hermione? You’re not fine,” he stressed, stepping closer to her. “Let’s go talk to Dumbledore. Maybe the attack affected you more than you thought?”

“Have you eaten any more chocolate?” Harry asked.

“You guys, leave her alone!” Ginny snapped, “It’s not that.”

“Well then, what is it?” Ron barked back.

“She’ll tell us when she’s ready!” Ginny said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Tell us what? What do you know that we don’t?” Harry asked, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She knew they were coming from a good place, but the bickering of her friends was becoming too much. For the first time all day, she stood up from her spot, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders. She shivered slightly as the warmth that she had accumulated in her cocoon faded into the clammy castle air. She rubbed at her face, trying to feel some semblance of alertness…. They all quieted down.  

“I guess I could have a bit of supper,” Hermione announced softly. They all looked at one another in relief.

 

* * *

 

Hermione knew she had made a mistake the second she had entered the Great Hall. She could feel his eyes on her. It was unmistakeable, and it took all of her effort to try and ignore him. 

As she made her way to her spot, she felt a heavy weight press down onto her chest, making it hard to breathe. Trying to go to dinner, trying to act as though she was okay… She knew it was useless, she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be near him. After what he had done to her… The way he had seen her… 

Her eyes flicked up involuntarily and straight into Draco Malfoy’s.

She stopped in her tracks, heart thudding painfully in her chest.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said suddenly, tearing her gaze away from him and down to the floor. “I’m going to go talk to Dumbledore.”

“What?” Harry blurted but she was already spinning on her heel and running back out into the hallway. She ran, but not in the direction of Dumbledore’s office. She ran to the only place that had been her safe haven… the place she had shared with him back before even the thought of him made her heart ache with hurt and betrayal.

Her uneven footsteps echoed through the corridors as she left the sounds of the Great Hall behind her. Hermione didn’t know why her feet were taking her  _ there _ ; she didn’t know why she needed to go back into that room… She supposed she needed to feel some semblance of what she thought they had begun to develop. She needed to feel safe, like the rug had never been pulled out from under her. Things had been  _ so good _ … she wanted to go back to that.

She stopped at the wall, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes and thought of what she needed… She needed to feel safe again, she wanted to feel like she was home, like she had felt in that study room. When she opened her eyes, the door had appeared.

She pushed the door open and stepped straight into the front room of her house. It took her a moment to fully comprehend that she was now standing in her home... The house she lived in every summer… The house she grew up in. When the familiar smell of lilacs and the citrus cleaner her mother and father used to scrub the linoleum in the kitchen hit her, tears filled her eyes. Overwhelmed with nostalgia and a sense of comfort, she shut the door behind her and smiled.

She was home. 

Well, kind of. She knew her parents weren't going to arrive back from work, it was just an illusion… But that was fine by her.

Her heart was in her throat as she floated down the hallway and into the living room. It was amazing. She felt like she was really home. The room never ceased to amaze her… There was even the evening sun laced with dust motes streaming in through the windows and white lace curtains she had helped her mother choose. 

She made her way up the stairs, marvelling at the portraits on the wall. So many memories, so many treasured moments captured, and even though they didn’t move the way wizarding world photographs did, she found them just as magical. Seeing all the pictures of her parents, she wished she could just tell them about everything.. About the looming war. About Draco. She knew that if she ever mentioned all of the real danger that they had been in, they would panic and pull her out of school, but the thought of their reactions just made her miss the sense of normalcy even more. 

Once she reached the landing on the second floor, the familiar floorboards creaking in the exact way that she remembered, she looked toward her bedroom door. She had daydreamed about perhaps bringing Draco home to visit someday… She had imagined showing him her room and all of the muggle inventions that made life so much easier. She had been sure that he would be fascinated by it all.

As she stepped onto the plush violet carpet in front of her bed, she felt the tears begin to flow steadily down her face. She wished she was home.  _ Actually  _ home. Everything was so simple in the muggle world. Away from the war. Away from  _ him _ . She sat on the edge of her bed, tears streaming down her face as she sniffed. All she wanted to do was be held by her dad, to have her hair smoothed down by her mum. She wanted to forget about Draco Malfoy. It was a deep, tired sort of misery.

She kicked off her shoes and crawled under her sheets that smelled like home, allowing herself to believe the familiar world the room had built for her. When she finally fell asleep, the pillow a bit damp from her tears, she dreamt of being held, but it wasn’t by either of her parents. 

 

* * *

 

Draco wanted to die. Not in the way that he had before, it was real this time. All he could think about as he waited in the Great Hall was seeing her face. He  _ hated _ every student who walked through the doors that wasn’t her, his eyes locked, seldom blinking, on the large wooden frames. When he finally saw the first hint of her messier-than-usual hair pass through the entrance, he ceased breathing involuntarily. He drank in her face, her presence, noticing how pale she looked, the dark circles under her eyes; it was apparent that she hadn’t slept. Even as a distant figure at the end of the hall, looking worse for wear than he had ever seen her, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. As if in slow motion, he felt her eyes being drawn to his. He knew that he should look away, that he didn’t deserve to be seen by her, that she shouldn’t have to ever see him again after what he had done. He knew all this, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring. His sense of longing overpowered his conscience, his better judgement. As she inevitably locked eyes with him, he changed his mind: he no longer wanted to die. He  _ needed _ to die. She looked at him like he was a looming predator, her eyes empty of anything but fear.

Then she had fled. She had literally fled...  physically running out of the room to avoid him… He wasn’t sure what he had expected. More accurately, his mind had been too busy  _ hoping _ for a dozen different things to even attempt to expect anything. He had hoped that should would quickly pull out her wand and cast The Killing Curse as he deserved. Worse than that, he had hoped that she would smile, his betrayal forgiven or forgotten. As the doors of the Great Hall closed behind her, so did Draco’s eyes. He lowered his head into his arms, all thoughts of the other students abandoned. He wished that he could cry, or scream, or (preferably) die. Much to his continued disappointment, he did none of these things. 

 

* * *

 

 

He had foolishly let a part of him believe that things would get better, but they only got worse. Days came and went with Hermione acting as though he was invisible. Several times he tried to corner her after charms to apologize, to say anything, but she always escaped in time. Her ability to evade him was impressive. Often he could swear she was sitting in her spot one second and he would look away for just a moment and she would disappear. He wondered if she had learned a new spell that would help her avoid any confrontation with him. Somehow he didn’t doubt it.

On the third day of being ignored, he had tried to convince himself that he didn’t want her in his life. That he would be just fine without her and that they shouldn’t be together anyway. He had almost succeeded in starting to convince himself when he had stumbled upon her studying in the library with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her; thankfully nobody seemed to notice him lurking behind a bookshelf. They were sitting at a table near a window, and the evening light kissed her profile, casting an angelic glow around her. He studied the soft curves of her face, the lilting tip of her nose and the sweet plumpness of her lips. He remembered vividly how it felt to capture them in his own, and a hard lump grew in the pit of his stomach.

Weasley leaned over to show her something in his muggle history book, and her mouth turned up into a smile. The smile made his heart ache, but then he heard Weasley say something about “rubber ducks” and a bubble of laughter escaped from Hermione. It chimed through the Library, and it was decidedly sweeter than any bell he had ever heard. 

He wanted to make her laugh again. He wanted to be at the receiving ends of one her giggles that she had to bite her lip to suppress. He didn’t want to be a stranger, he didn’t want to be lurking among the bookshelves, staring at her from afar. He wanted to be sitting next to her instead of the Weasel. He hardened his resolve and decided that he would keep trying, but when she was relatively alone. He didn’t want to be hexed by Potty or Weasel…. Or the Weaslette.

Any notes he sent her way seemed to incinerate once they got within a meter of her, so that was a dead end. He was growing desperate… He wanted to make things right. Even if she didn’t want to be with him anymore, he still wanted to explain himself better. He had to find her and try to get her to listen for just a second. Today was the day that they would typically meet for their healing sessions, so he had that excuse in his head when he approached the portrait entrance to her head girl dorm.

It took a while to convince the snobbish man in the portrait to summon Hermione, but eventually he left to do so. When the portrait swung open, Draco’s heart was in his throat, his mouth was already dropping open to blurt his apology that he had rehearsed in his head over and over. When Blaise was revealed instead of Hermione, Draco’s mouth clamped shut in surprise. 

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Blaise asked as he stepped into the hallway.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I asked for Hermione, not you,” he snapped back. He hadn’t intended for his tone to be so sharp, but whenever Draco was caught off guard his natural reaction was to be condescending and rude.

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” Blaise said in a mock show of remorse, rocking on his heels, “but I’m the only person here this evening.”

“That’s bollocks, I know she’s in there,” Draco replied and looked past Blaise’s shoulder and into the room. Blaise positioned his body to block his view.

“You’re not the only person she’s avoiding,” he laughed bitterly, “she’s avoiding me, too. I haven’t seen her in days.”

Draco swallowed hard, realizing that the Head Boy was right, she was probably hiding somewhere in a friend’s dorm. Disappointment pressed heavy on his chest, and he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Looks like we’re both out of a date to the Winter Formal tomorrow, aren’t we?” Blaise said in an uncharacteristically sympathetic tone. “I don’t know how you fucked up so hard, mate. She was so into you. Anyone could tell. I had a suspicion the whole time.” 

The word “mate” made his heart clench and Draco looked at his former friend. Really looked at him. As he searched Blaise’s face, he realized he had missed him. They had grown akin to brothers in the last few years. He wished he could take back his cruel words at the discovery that the dark-skinned boy had actually been a half blood the whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words felt strange on his tongue. “For what I said before… and for, you know…”

“Stealing my girlfriend?” Blaise supplied and Draco winced. “Draco Malfoy, you are a prick. You are a selfish, vindictive, conniving snake who treats everyone around him like rubbish and doesn’t know what he has until its gone.”

Normally the famously hot-headed Draco Malfoy would get riled up at such insults, but he had been telling himself the same things so often recently that they failed to elicit any response. After a moment he nodded and said, “That sounds about right.”

“Have a good evening, Malfoy,” Blaise said and stepped back into his dorm, the portrait swinging shut behind him with a loud bang.

 

* * *

 

“Did he leave?” Hermione asked, curled up on the couch with a book. She had decided to be a mature adult and return back to her dorm a few days ago, and thankfully Blaise had treated her all the same. Just with less attempted snogging, which she appreciated. 

“Yes,” he returned, sitting on the sofa across from her with a tired sigh. “He was upset.”

“I figured,” she said. She closed her book and placed it on the coffee table, her eyes were suddenly too sore to continue. 

“You can’t keep avoiding him forever,” Blaise reminded her, “there are only so many places you can hide. You aren’t invisible.”

Hermione thought of the invisibility cloak tucked carefully away in her bag and her lips tugged up in a tired but wry smile. If only he knew.

“I’ll be okay,” she said, getting up from the couch to retreat into her room. 

“I know  _ you’ll _ be okay,” Blaise pointed out “but  _ he’s _ two steps away from being admitted to the mental ward of St. Mungo’s.” Hermione stopped and looked at Blaise, letting his words seep in. He didn’t seem to have wanted to make her feel bad, but nonetheless, guilt squeezed her heart. 

 

* * *

 

The next evening, Draco found himself in Dumbledore’s office after being summoned.

“I’m glad to see you received my note” Dumbledore began, gazing at his student and then out of the window at the setting sun. “I was wondering when you would arrive; it’s almost supper.” 

Crumpled in Draco’s fist was the note he had received from Dumbledore. It had appeared on his desk in the middle of advanced Herbology stating plainly and without explanation that the headmaster would be the one to heal his scar from that point forward. It had caught him off guard, and he had stared at the scrawled message for so long that the black outline of the words had been permanently burned into his retinas. How had Hermione managed to wiggle out of her engagement with him? He had thought it was an irreversible punishment. He had thought that no matter how far she had gone to avoid him, at the end of the week she would have to meet with him like always. That had been his final hope to get her alone, and now that chance was slipping through the cracks in the floor. 

He ignored the reason for his summons. He had a bone to pick with his headmaster.

“You lied,” Draco said and Dumbledore blinked, tilting his head. 

“Forgive me, child. My memory seems to be failing me... What did I lie about?” he inquired. 

“You said that it would be better to tell the truth,” he snapped, “I told her the truth. And now she hates me!”

A flicker of understanding flashed through the headmaster’s eyes and Draco gritted his teeth. Dumbledore must know what happened because Hermione had told him... That’s how she had managed to get out of her punishment!

“I’m assuming this is about Miss Granger,” the old man spoke softly, and even just the sound of her name caused Draco’s heart to tighten in grief. 

“I never should have listened to you,” Draco spat, standing up from his spot and pointing an accusing finger at his headmaster. “You’ve spoiled everything!” 

“Draco,” he said, standing up and making his way around his desk. “How long ago did you tell her this secret?”

“A week ago, and she skipped class to avoid me,” he said, face crumpling in grief. “She skipped class, Professor. Hermione never skips class.” 

Dumbledore brought him closer for a fatherly embrace. 

“It has only been a week,” he said softly and Draco stood with his hands balled into fists at his sides. He would not let the man who ruined his life try and comfort him. This was all his  _ bloody _ fault. They would have been together if not for the man placing a comforting hand on his head. 

“Why did you tell me to tell the truth?!” He was shouting now, thinking of all he had lost when she had walked out of that infirmary. She had been the only person who had kept him company in the last few lonely months. She had been the person to save his life, to grieve over him when she thought he had died. She had tolerated his bad moods, trying to cheer him up and put a smile on his face, even when he had treated her like rubbish for their entire academic career. “She’s gone, Professor. She’s gone because-because of me!”

“You mustn't be so hard on yourself, Draco,” Dumbledore said and brought the grieving boy out at arm's length, looking him in the watery eyes. “You have grown more in the last year than any of my students have in the last seven, including Miss Granger. You have grown into an upstanding young man with a solid moral compass. You have grown strength and compassion, bravery and acceptance… You may have made mistakes in your past, but you are no monster.”

Draco looked up at his headmaster for the first time since beginning his breakdown, and he tried his best to calm down… But when the kind man placed a warm hand on his cheek, he knew it was pointless. Dumbledore had turned into somewhat of a father figure, and he had never been able to have such a sacred and pure bond. It only triggered more grief, and it was then that tears began to seep from his eyes. 

He knew it should have been embarrassing to cry in such a way in front of his Headmaster, but it was not the first time he had done such a thing in front of him, and he was sure it would not be the last.

“You may feel like you’re alone, but believe me when I say you are not. I am here with you, and I will be for a little while longer,” he finished, “All that matters for the moment is that we get your scar healed up and you get some supper and then off to bed for some rest. When the sun comes back up you might find that things have changed for the better.” 

Despite his deep and ingrained pessimism, after Dumbledore worked on his scar and watched approvingly as he ate some food that the old man had tucked away in his private stores, he couldn’t help but believe Dumbledore at least a slight bit. If he had gone from plotting to kill the Headmaster to viewing him in such a fatherly way in such a short time, perhaps there was the slightest chance that Hermione might one day begin to forgive him. As he made his way back down to the dungeons, robes wrapped tightly against the cold corridors, he found himself looking forward to the morning and the chance to see her at the Winter Formal. Even if she still hated him for weeks, or months, he had heard her laugh that day. 

As he began to drift off to sleep finally back in his chambers, something that Dumbledore had said caught at the fringes of his semi-conscious mind: _ ‘a little while longer…’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait! No excuses!! I’m a troll that lives under a bridge and does nothing all day so i should have posted this weeks ago lmao (thanks to thomas for beta-ing my garbage words)  
> Review and let me know what you think!! Love u busted Bettys!!!


	19. Chapter 19

 

Ginny’s face hovered inches from Hermione’s own, her freckled face scrunched in concentration. After a moment, her face lit up and she took a step back to wave her wand, casting yet another beauty charm directly into the face of her friend. As the spell took effect, Hermione stared at the nearby mirror, wondering what the most recent charm had been for. As she watched, she noticed a faint shimmer appear in her eyebrows. Attempting to hide the confusion in her voice, she asked, “Did you just… put magic glitter in my eyebrows?” 

Ginny nodded sagely before responding, “The eyebrows are actually the first thing that people notice on a face, did you know that?”

Hermione looked back at the mirror, perplexed. 

“That’s too much, Ginny,” she stressed, “I said you could do my makeup if you didn’t go overboard.”

“It’s not too much!” Her friend argued, standing with her hands on her hips.

“It is,” Hermione said, “please take it off.”

With a huff, Ginny undid her charm and Hermione’s eyebrows were back to normal.  _ Thank Merlin.  _

The person staring back at her was certainly eye-catching, but she couldn’t help but feel that her face was now more magic than skin. The sheer amount of charms made her face feel… fuzzy. And despite the fact that she had been watching the entire process as her face gradually accumulated spells… It wasn’t her.. It was someone with rosy cheeks, red pouty lips, shimmering eyelids framed with dark, and dark long lashes.

She supposed she should feel beautiful, but she didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like an art project. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t look lovely, but she felt more like a statue than a human girl. The makeup made her skin itch. Her hairdo: an intricate and cascading fishtail braid down the side of her head adorned with little diamonds, tugged on her scalp just enough to be uncomfortable. She hadn’t even put on her dress yet, and all she wanted to do was turn in for the night. She didn’t want to go to the Winter Formal. She had almost wiggled out of it, since she was only supposed to lead the clean up but Mcgonagall had passed by her room to politely, but firmly, remind her that all prefects and heads of houses were required to attend as guests. Mcgonagall had added, conspiratorially, that she had heard wind of a certain plot to put hovering charms on all of the furniture, and she needed as many competent wands as possible in case some countercharms were necessary.

So, here she was. Sitting as still as a statue as the rest of the girls in her class flitted about excitedly borrowing hair potions and makeup tips, asking for help to zip their dresses up, giggling about their dates, crying about their dates… There was so much life in this room, and Hermione felt as though she was watching the chaotic scene unfold separately from herself. As if she was a fly on the wall, or a bored spirit trying to entertain itself by observing the strange habits of the living.

Perhaps if she sat still enough, she could turn into an actual statue. Maybe even after a bit of time she could crumble into dust. And with that particularly morbid thought, Ginny finished her weaving of spells and brushes with a final flourish of her wand. 

“There,” she announced, sitting back and admiring her handiwork, “all done.” 

“Blimey, Ginny,” Parvati Patel breathed, gazing at Hermione’s done-up face, “d’you think you could do my makeup like that?”

“Hermione,” Lavender Brown sighed, “you look beautiful.” 

When she didn’t respond, Ginny nudged her with her knee. Hermione blinked, reminding herself that it was rude to ignore a compliment. 

“Thank you, Lavender,” she stated, and was relieved when the room’s attention drifted away from her and towards the door as it swung open, revealing a struggling Ronald Weasley. He was fighting with his formal robes’ complex tie. 

“Hermione, can you help me tie this again?” He grumbled, face red from the effort and his fingers tangled in the ancient silk. A few of the girls in the room squealed at the male intruder, as some of them were indecently dressed or only half zipped up. 

“Ronald! Girls are dressing in here!” Ginny snapped at her brother, reaching for the nearest shoe to throw. It flew across the room and smacked him right in his face. 

“Ow, you nutter! We have to be downstairs in five minutes, so I thought you lot would be ready by now!” He barked and rubbed his cheek dramatically. “Why’d you have to throw that at me? Why not a pillow?”

“Out! Out! Out! Bloody pervert!” She shouted, throwing the other shoe at him with deadly accuracy. He ducked just in time.

“Blimey! Okay, okay!” He cried and retreated back out the door, shutting it behind him. It was then that the girls in the room finished the final touches on their outfits, any loose hair was sprayed into submission. Any and all accessories were fashioned in place. High heels were strapped on and everyone was ready to go.

“I can’t believe I had my mask custom made and we aren’t even allowed to wear them,” Lavender said, staring at the intricately ornate mask with dejected longing, “it fits my dress perfectly. It’s not fair,” she pouted.

Despite Dumbledore allowing the formal to take place, he still made some changes that he felt would ease the mind of parents back home. Originally the prefects along with Blaise had decided that a Masquerade themed ball would be fun, but now the formal would just be a normal ball.

At last, everyone trickled out of the dorm and down the stairs, taking the din of their excited conversation with them. That is, everyone but Hermione. She sat still, staring at the unfamiliar face in the dusty mirror leaning against the wall.

“Come on,” Ginny said, draping Hermione’s midnight blue dress over her lap. “Time to get dressed.”

“I can’t,” Hermione whispered, not looking at her friend.

“Yes, you can,” her friend sighed, “it’s just a dress.”

“He’s going to be there,” she reiterated. 

“How do you know?” Ginny asked, “he’s been a complete shut-in since the beginning of the year.”

“He’s been trying to talk to me… He knows I’m going,” Hermione admitted, “I don’t want to see him.”

“Then close your eyes whenever he’s near,” Ginny said and grinned wryly, “you can hold onto my shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut tight. I’ll lead you around all night.”

Tears had begun to blur Hermione’s vision, but she couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s insane idea. It was funny to picture, and she also felt a tad emotional that her best friend was being so patient with her. She didn’t deserve someone as pure and unselfish as Ginny Weasley.

“So, sound like a plan?” Ginny asked hopefully.

In response, Hermione clapped a hand over her eyes. They both burst out laughing. 

As they were headed down the stairs to meet the boys and make their way to the formal as a group, Lavender Brown pulled them into the alcove leading to the first years dorms where a group of girls in their class were congregating. Once hidden from view, she revealed a bottle of firewhiskey from behind her skirt.

“Shall we have a bit of extra fun tonight?” Lavender said and waggled her eyebrows at the two girls. Ginny looked in alarm from the contraband to Hermione. While Ginny was okay with a few drinks here and there, she knew her friend was not and she was just waiting for an explosion in response.

But, surprisingly, it never came: Hermione was too busy weighing the pros and cons of getting tipsy while staring down the face of an emotionally strenuous night. Hermione Granger was not the kind of girl to let the rules slide, and she was definitely not the kind of girl to become inebriated on school grounds during an event that required her attention and leadership, but she supposed she also wasn't the kind of girl to snog Draco Malfoy and skip class... yet she had done that a few days prior. Perhaps Hermione Granger was turning into a new kind of girl. One who let herself relax, who didn't stick to the status quo as much.

“I suppose it could be fun,” she said to the surprise of everyone there. Lavender squealed and conjured up a half a dozen shot glasses. When one was placed in Hermione’s outstretched hand, Ginny looked at her with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “We have to chaperone tonight.”

“It’ll just be a little bit,” Hermione shrugged, “besides, weren’t you the one who’s been begging me to have some fun tonight?”

Lavender offered Ginny a glass, who after a moment of deliberation, seemed to throw caution to the wind. She accepted the drink. 

“Only one,” Ginny said, giving Hermione a meaningful look.

“Only one,” Hermione agreed, nodding seriously. 

 

* * *

 

Four shots later, Ginny and Hermione stumbled down the last stretch of stairs. Ginny’s heel slipped off of of one of the stone steps, causing her to flail and fall right onto her backside. Lavender, Hermione and the rest of the girls couldn’t hold back their hysteria, clutching their stomachs and howling in laughter. 

“Blimey!” Harry Potter exclaimed, standing from the couch and making his way over to his giggling girlfriend, “what on earth has gotten into you?” 

“She’s fine, Harry,” Lavender said, “she’s just a little clumsy!”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ginny said, her face flushed in embarrassment and intoxication, “I’m just a little clumsy.”

“You’re drunk,” Harry scoffed in disbelief. “You have to chaperone! What were you thinking, Gin?”

“You’re barmy,” Ginny laughed, straightening her dress and her hair.  She looked to her

friend for assistance. “Help me out here, Hermione!”

“Is she drunk?” Harry asked Hermione. Despite her giggles and woozy head, she put on her best sober front.

“You think _ I  _ would let her get drunk on a night like tonight? Honestly, Harry,” Hermione lied, and she had to admit to herself that she felt she gave quite a stirring and authentic performance. “She’s just… excited.” 

“We’re  _ all _ excited,” Parvati chimed in, speech slurred. A much less convincing performance than the one Hermione had given, if she could say so herself. 

“You’re absolutely drunk,” Ron said, stepping up next to Harry. He didn’t look mad, just betrayed. “Without me, Gin? How could you?”

“Harry, Ron,” Hermione said, a tone of authority in her voice, “we’re just excited. And late. Let’s go before we’re anymore tardy than we already are.” 

The boys looked at eachother, obviously incredulous, but with a little bit of nonverbal conversation, they decided to let it go. As the group of boys, including Neville, Dean, Seamus, and a wide-eyed Colin Creevey made their way out of the portrait hole, the girls suppressed their giggles to the best of their abilities and followed suit.

 

* * *

 

“What am I doing?” Draco mumbled to his reflection. He had decided to get ready in the girls bathroom on the first floor. If one could ignore Moaning Myrtle, it was actually quite a good place to retreat to if one needed to be away from the rest of the student body.

With adept and nimble fingers, he finished fastening the silk tie of his designer robes. He couldn’t believe he was going to the formal even after all of the conversations he had had with himself, reminding his logical side of all of the reasons he shouldn’t go. The main reason to not go was the fact that Hermione Granger was going, but that was precisely the reason that he decided to. 

He knew he shouldn’t seek her out the way he was going to, but he needed to see her. He wanted to see her and talk to her more than anything he had ever wanted in his entire life. Every single time he would catch a glance of her in the hall or sneak a look at her in class had been absolute torture. It wasn’t just a desire to be face to face with her once more, it was a desperate  _ need _ . Like the need to breathe. Or to eat. Or to shite. 

Maybe the world would keep going on even if Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger weren’t together, but he couldn’t. His heart would surely stop. With a hardened resolved and a good luck from Myrtle, Draco strode from the bathroom and toward the Great Hall. 

* * *

 

 

As Hermione neared the Great Hall and began seeing the decorations she had helped put up, she began regretting her decision to drink. She could hear the orchestra playing as they walked down the hall, and as everyone else started yammering excitedly, her stomach began flipping. She didn’t know if it was from nervousness or from the alcohol. Probably both. 

As they neared the massive front doors, Hermione saw Blaise giving a group of prefects some last minute direction. It was then that she really regretted taking those four shots, what was she thinking?! She had a job to do... and she couldn’t do it while inebriated! She was an absolute numpty! 

“You guys go ahead inside,” she told her group, waving them away, “I’m going to help Blaise for a bit.”

Ginny and Parvati looked at each other and giggled. 

“Do you think you’ll be any help in your state?” Ginny asked, biting her lip.

Hermione pushed her friend, who stumbled away, laughing. “Just go.”

As she approached Blaise, she wondered if it was possible to give herself detention. She was the worst Head Girl. She was the worst student. She was just the  _ worst. _

“Hermione,” Blaise said as he looked up at her, his clipboard full of lists of things to finish dropping to his side. He looked her up and down, eyes wide. Hermione suddenly felt that her dress clung just a little bit too tight, and she wished that she had chosen something even a little more conservative. Although she was sure that Ginny would say that it was already conservative enough. 

“Hi,” she murmured, hoping that he couldn’t smell the firewhiskey on her breath. “Sorry I didn’t come down sooner.”

He stared at her a while longer before seemingly mentally shaking himself. He coughed and looked back down at his clipboard, scratching his head.

“It-its fine,” he said, suddenly very interested on his scrawled notes, “we agreed that you’d lead the clean up anyways. I wouldn’t expect you to do do both.” 

“I still feel bad,” she pressed, reaching out to place a hand on his arm, “are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

He looked down at the point of their physical contact and swallowed, “I’m sure, Hermione. Go enjoy the night. You earned it.”

A grin stretched across Hermione’s face as she leaned in for a hug.

“ _ We _ earned it,” she said in his ear before pulling away and turning on her heel to follow her friends into the ornately decorated Great Hall.

 

* * *

Draco Malfoy was sitting at a table at the back of the hall, but in a chair that gave him an ideal view of the front door. It was in the darkest corner he could find, and the students who had arrived were still milling about and finding their friends, not quite ready to find their spots yet… so he was safe from any lingering gazes.

As his eyes scraped across the crowd, he couldn’t help but feel angry. Everyone looked so bloody happy, paired off into couples in their glamourous little circles sipping sparkling pumpkin juice. When he saw Theodore Nott walk in with Pansy Parkinson clinging to his arm, a little bit of bile gurgled up into his mouth. Disgusting. He couldn’t believe he used to associate himself with them. 

He settled into his chair, hunkering down for what he thought would be a long wait… He doubted she would be too excited to come to this thing. He could see her meandering in at the last possible moment and keeping to the shadows to avoid him.

When she stepped into the room a few moments later, he wasn’t ready for what he saw. He had been so eager to lay eyes on her that night, he hadn’t stopped to think if he could even handle it. All of the oxygen left his lungs in a rush, and he greedily drank in her form. Even from across the Great Hall he could see how radiant she looked. She was like a star glimmering in the night sky.

Her gown was simultaneously conservative, yet sexy. It was a floor length gown, the entire outer layer composed of shimmering, midnight blue lace. Draco’s eyes were drawn to the neckline; it was broad and semi-low, displaying her perfect collarbone excellently. The sleeves were the perfect combination of elegance and sensibility, much like the girl wearing them. As she turned to take in the decorations, he saw that the gown was backless, leaving her shoulderblades somehow sensually bare. Overall, Draco didn’t think that he could have done a better job of selecting her outfit himself, which was not something that he found himself thinking very often in this castle full of unflattering robes and messy hair hidden under hats.

She had never looked so exquisite. 

He watched as she scanned the room for her friends, and his heart fluttered as her eyes unknowingly passed over him. His nerves quickly melted away into disbelief when he saw her quite literally _ stumble _ over to Ginny once she had found her. Her ginger friend welcomed her with open arms and they dissolved into giggles. 

Was she  _ drunk?  _

As soon as the thought entered his head, he waved it away with a snort. No. Absolutely not. There would be no way that Hermione Jean Granger, top of her class, Hogwarts Head Girl, and brightest witch of her age would ever come to a social function that she organized  _ inebriated _ . It would be the day that hell froze over. She was probably just a tad unbalanced in her heels, Draco reasoned.

He watched as they joined the rest of their group, and he saw the way Ron looked at her as she approached. He clenched his fists. He didn’t blame the Gryffindor boy for looking like a dog begging for a biscuit… every kid in the Great Hall had noticed the Head Girl enter; she was easily the most beautiful girl on the floor that night. 

She was the most beautiful girl and he knew that after seeing her like this, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything or anyone else until she was his. He brooded in the darkness, awaiting the perfect moment to steal her away. 

 

* * *

 

Hermione couldn’t stop smiling, she didn’t think she would have as much fun as she was having at that moment. They had met up with Luna, who was wearing a strange feathered dress. She seemed to be performing some sort of aerobic Muggle exercise routine that involved a lot of kicks and arm movement. Hermione was completely boggled as to where she might have picked it up, until she remembered how truly odd Luna’s father, Xenophilius, was. She could absolutely imagine him teaching Luna these “moves” as some sort of ritualistic dance or stretching technique. Whatever the source, the Ravenclaw was so into it that Ginny soon joined her with a giggle. Hermione laughed out loud, clapping as the girls moved around in a way that Hermione could only describe as “disco.”

The snacks and refreshments that the others on the planning committee had arranged to have the house-elves make were present in large supply, and Hermione helped herself to a small sandwich, hoping to possibly counteract the tipsiness that was making it so difficult for her to walk around in her heels. She surveyed the Great Hall as she ate her sandwich; the large chamber was now full of milling students snacking and chatting. The room was lit by the usual floating candles and torches, but they were now festive colors and, out of the hundreds of small flames, down floated what appeared to be glowing embers. Hermione smiled as one of them drifted through the air and landed on her outstretched hand. 

The glowing speck was not hot, but cold against her palm. Up close, the ember revealed itself to be an intricate glowing golden snowflake. The tiny spot of cold on her hand felt nice amidst the hot, fragrant air of the Great Hall. As she watched, the snowflake slowly dissolved, leaving the smallest spot of light on her skin. She had been in the committee meetings when the Ravenclaw Prefects were discussing this particular enchantment, but they’d been working furiously on the details all the way up until the previous night, so this was her first time actually witnessing it. Hermione had been worried that they wouldn’t finish on time, but now, seeing the sheer beauty of the spell, she was awestruck that students had even been capable of such a thing. As another flake floated towards her, she stuck out her tongue, catching it on the tip. As it evaporated she caught a hint of the taste of cider, and she could now see a tiny dot of light on the tip of her tongue.

She giggled, for a moment feeling much the same as she did when she first came to hogwarts: enchanted by the sheer magic of, well,  _ magic _ . She looked around at the huge chamber, which was gradually filling up with the sounds of laughter, the gleeful smiles of students, and some of the most beautiful magic she had ever seen. For the first time in the whole process, Hermione felt overwhelmed by the sense of satisfaction in what she and the other students on the committee had accomplished. This was the sort of Hogwarts ball that she knew her fellow students would remember for their entire lives.

Hermione was drawn out of her thoughts by the soft chiming of a crystal goblet. Carefully wiping a happy tear from her face with her lace sleeve- very carefully, as to not muddy up ginny’s hard work- she turned toward the front of the Hall.

“Good evening everyone,” Dumbledore announced from his place at the podium, and the Great Hall fell silent, save for the soft lilting melodies from the orchestra. Hermione hushed her friends’ giggles and they ceased their goofy dance to listen to their headmaster. “Before we begin our celebration, I would like to acknowledge the wonderful job that our very own Miss Granger and Mr. Zabini along with the prefects did to make this night possible. I must say I don’t think I’ve ever seen our Great Hall look so beautiful.” 

At that, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. A few dozen students looked her way and Hermione couldn’t help the blush that tinged her cheeks. She looked over her shoulder at Zabini, who was heading in from the corridor. He grinned back at her and performed a mock bow in response to the applause. 

“These last few months have been trying times, and you have all managed to raise yourself up above adversity and excel in your academics,” he went on, looking at all of his students with pride, “I am so very honored to be your headmaster. You have all worked so very studiously, and you all deserve a night of celebration. So without further ado… Minerva, may I have this dance?”

Professor Mcgonagall, after a no-nonsense curtsey, accepted his hand and they twirled onto the dancefloor with a crescendo from the orchestra. The ball had officially begun! A swell of affection warmed her chest as she watched her two favorite professors dance. She loved them dearly, and she was so happy they could have one final celebration before the end of her time at Hogwarts.

The rest of the staff joined in two by two. She was too busy enjoying the view of all of her teachers twirling and waltzing on the dance floor to notice Blaise nudging her expectantly.

“Granger,” he whispered, “we have to dance now.”

“What?” She said, looking at him in alarm. He raised his eyebrows.

“The head boy and girl are next to dance,” he reminded her. “Remember?”

She did not remember ever hearing that! In fact, she was quite certain that no one had ever told her such a thing! If she had heard she would have absolutely NOT accepted any drinks. 

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled under her breath as Blaise took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor.  

“I don’t remember how to dance,” Hermione told Blaise, blushing furiously. It had been several years since their required dance lesson before the Yule Ball, and her legs felt awkward and unresponsive beneath her. On top of all that, it felt as though the firewhiskey was coursing through her blood, making her movements sluggish and her head woozy. The combined heat of the dozens of blazing torches and the hundreds of pubescent students seemed to cling to her skin.

“It’s just the waltz, Granger,” he said in her ear, “it’s quite literally just counting to three.” 

With a sigh, Hermione accepted his hand in hers. When he placed his other hand on her waist, however, an uncomfortable feeling entered her stomach. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel bad either. It didn’t feel like anything. She looked at her partner as they began to step and spin. Had they really dated for months? How had she been with someone who hadn’t made her feel like she would explode when they touched? How had she shared her time so dutifully with someone she only merely liked? 

After what she had experienced with Draco-

_ No!  _ She stopped herself mid thought, missing a step of the dance. She gave Blaise an apologetic look before fumbling to keep up. Tonight would be a night about having fun! Not brooding over a bloody boy who did nothing but lie to her from the very beginning. She would enjoy her time with her very best friends in her favorite place.

With a friendly smile at her dance partner, she followed his steps more carefully, praying that she could stay upright for the remainder of the song. 

 

* * *

 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Draco approached the edge of the crowd of students. They had parted to create a circle, allowing the teachers an appropriate amount of space to dance. It felt so much like the Yule Ball that he had to remind himself that he was not, in fact, fourteen years old watching bitterly as Potter The Triwizard Champion waltzed with the one of Patel girls. He edged only close enough to see the tops of his teachers heads as they circled around one another. 

When he spotted Hermione, he had the unfortunate timing of watching as she took Blaise’s arm and he spun her onto the dancefloor. She laughed audibly as she wobbled ungracefully on her heels. Zabini was there to steady her and placed his hand in her own while the other took its place on her waist. Draco clenched his fists. Her face was burning when she said something in his ear. When Blaise smiled and whispered something back, Draco felt like vomiting. He wanted to step out onto the dance floor and forcibly pull her away from him. He understood it was tradition for the Head Boy and Head Girl to dance, but Merlin, he didn’t think he could watch this without hexing someone. Once their dance was over, she was immediately approached by Cormac Mclaggen, who bowed slightly before offering his hand. Draco could see the blush that turned her cheeks the most alluring color as she bowed back and let him take hold of her hand and waist.

Draco scanned the crowd and saw the lingering gazes of many students. He had a feeling that her dance card would be quite full for the night. 

With a dejected huff, he made his way back to his seat. He was beginning to think trying to get her on her own was going to be impossible. 

 

* * *

 

The classical style dancing didn’t last for long. After about a dozen songs where boy after boy approached her for a dance, she was quite relieved when the orchestra excused themselves to stow away their instruments and join in the celebration. Her hands were sweaty and she was certain that she had never been touched by so many boys in such a short period of time. It had been overwhelming. She was relieved, that is, until the Cornish Pixies took their place on the elevated stage to the applause of the crowd around her. Everyone surged forward towards the front of the stage, carrying Hermione along with them. Then the wizarding rock started, along with throbbing drums, screeching guitars, and wild vocals. The blaring music along with the raucous cheering from the sweaty crowd was a little too much for an inebriated Hermione Granger to tolerate.

In search of a reprieve, she pushed her way out of the crowd and toward the table of refreshments. After pouring herself a glass of eggnog she settled in one of the chairs at a nearby vacant table. It was there that she sat, sipping her drink and observing the night. Everything had turned out exactly how they had planned. She smiled softly to herself as she watched the crowd of students jump and scream along to the lyrics.

 

* * *

 

Draco straightened up when he saw Hermione break her way out of the crowd. He stayed still for several moments, waiting for someone to follow her out… when no one came, he stood from his spot as she poured herself a drink. This was his chance. This was it! Everyone was too wrapped up to notice her make her way toward an empty chair. 

He took a deep breath and ran over what he would say in his head as his feet propelled him forward…  _ Hermione, I’m so sorry. Sorry can’t even begin to explain how I feel. These past few weeks have really put things into perspective. Please, please.. _

His inner monologue froze when he neared close enough to see the expression on her face. It was one of pure bliss, a soft smile tugging at her painted lips. He watched her as she watched the crowd, joy and amusement dancing in her eyes. He slowed to a stop, just observing her. She looked so happy… He knew in his heart that the moment she laid eyes on him the smile would fade away, replaced by an expression of distrust and distress. 

He clenched his fists and stood in his spot. Choked with guilt and desire, he felt himself being pulled in two different directions. Part of him wanted to be selfish, wanted to force her attention on him. He would give anything to have her look at him and talk to him again. Part of him wanted to leave her be, to protect that smile at all costs... 

As he stood still, hovering in the limbo of his inability to make a decision… He realized that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear to be the person to take her smile away from her. If he truly loved her, he would let her be happy. And with that realisation he felt his heartbeat slow and felt an intense sadness… It was the kind of sadness that made him feel as though he was drowning. With a deflated spirit, Draco turned on his heel and walked away. As he glanced back at her, he felt a small glimmer of satisfaction at the fact that she was still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! This chapter was so long my BETA and I decided it would be better to split it into two! So don't despair! The dance isn't over... There's still time to fix things between Draco and Hermione!
> 
> Let me know what you think! I know this was just a filler chapter more than anything else... The REAL good stuff happens next chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

_ Get up and leave, Draco,  _ the Slytherin boy told himself, slumped pathetically in his seat. Despite his inner turmoil, his gaze lingered on Hermione. She was dancing with a group of Gryffindor girls, laughing and twirling without a care in the world. She looked so beautiful, he couldn’t get over it.

He shifted uncomfortably in one of the conjured wooden chairs that surrounded each of the tables, unsure of why he was staying. After all, he had decided to let her have her night. He wouldn’t burden her with his presence, but he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to stand up and make his way back to his quarters. He couldn’t even bring himself to take his eyes off of her. Somehow, every smile, every laugh that bubbled from her perfect throat, felt like something that he  _ needed _ to cherish.

“She’s quite beautiful,” a soft and lilting voice said from behind him. Startled, he whirled around to find Luna Lovegood sitting in the chair beside him. She looked past him at the crowd of dancing students, a pleasant smile on her face.

“When on earth did you get there?” Draco asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“You should ask her to dance,” Luna said, apparently having not heard his question. Draco was taken aback. What on earth was she saying? Hadn’t she heard that him and Hermione were no longer talking? 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he told her.

“Why not? The worst thing she could say is no,” Luna said, but paused, “I suppose the worst thing she could do is hex you, but that’s not too bad.”

Draco stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. The sheer absurdity of her statement getting to him. Or perhaps it wasn’t even that funny… maybe he just needed a release of tension. Luna gave him a dreamy smile before giggling, she was obviously surprised at his reaction.

“I’ve been hexed by her before, I’m not sure that there would be anything left of me after a second time,” he said, only half-jokingly. 

“Maybe she doesn’t have her wand,” Luna noted.

“She would never forget her wand,” he said, shaking his head and the smile falling from his face, “besides, even if she did, she could punch me.”

“Would she do that?” Luna pondered, “I don’t think she would.”

“I think she would,” Draco said, heart thudding heavily in his chest, “I fucked everything up.”

A blanket of sorrow draped over the boy once more, thinking of all that he could have had, all they could have shared, if he had done things differently. Luna was a particularly intuitive girl when it came to the emotions of others around her, and in response to the gloomy cloud looming over her friend,  the smile dissolved from her face. Her hand floated from her lap to cover Draco’s hand with her own. Despite the fact that two weeks ago he never would have allowed her to touch him in such a way, the lack of human connection he had felt in the time since Hermione had begun to ignore him compelled him to keep still; to allow this small moment of affection to pass unhindered... Even if the clamminess of her palms was a bit unnerving.

A few sad heartbeats passed before Draco felt the need to break up the overwhelmingly chummy atmosphere. 

“Besides, she’s punched me before,” he said and leant back, slipping his hand out from under hers and brushing his hair back out of his face. “Who knows? Maybe I did deserve it then, and maybe I would deserve it now.”

“You deserved it then,” Luna stated, making Draco bristle a bit at her assuredness of his wrongdoing. Her gaze wandered back to the dance floor before she continued, “but somehow I don’t think you would deserve it now.” 

“Thanks,” he said, “... I guess.” 

 

* * *

 

“Have you seen Luna!?” Neville Longbottom shouted over the ear-numbing racket of the rock and roll music. He had approached them in the middle of their circle, carrying two goblets of punch. Hermione looked around their little group. Strange, she had just been right there! How had she slipped away without them noticing?

“I don’t know!” Hermione cried back, “Maybe she went to use the restroom!?”

“Ew!” Lavender Brown squealed back, “Too much information!”

“Shut it, Lavender!” Ginny rolled her eyes, “Everyone shits!” 

“She’s over there!” Parvati cried, pointing her finger away from the crowd. Hermione squinted in the direction her friend was motioning towards, trying to find her light-haired friend through the crowd. 

“Where!?” She asked.

“At one of the tables!” Parvati clarified and Hermione’s eyes skimmed over the mostly empty tables and chairs until she spotted Luna… She was sitting with a boy, but she couldn’t quite make him out.

“She’s with Draco Malfoy!?” Lavender brown cried and at Draco’s name Hermione’s heart dropped suddenly into her stomach. It was astonishing that two words could have such a visceral effect on her… Two words that -before this year- had meant little more to her than a bit of a slimy feeling in her stomach and a brief recollection of the satisfaction of punching him in the face. Now his name brought back a flood of memories that her fuzzy, tipsy mind couldn’t quell…  With her heart beating wildly in her chest and her mouth suddenly too dry, she turned sharply away from them.

_ Oh no. Oh Merlin! He came after all!  _ Perhaps he had been there all night and had seen her dance with all of those boys! What did he think of that? Did he think she looked beautiful? What if he was planning on approaching her? What would she say? Where could she escape to? She felt in the sleeve of her dress and relaxed ever so slightly at the comforting weight of her wand stowed away. There was always a way out with her wand. 

“What is she doing with _ him _ ?!” Neville asked, alarmed.

“Merlin, she’s fine Neville!” Ginny said, “Look, they’re laughing!”

They were laughing? That made Hermione stop… Of all of the things she expected to discover tonight, a laughing Draco Malfoy was not one of them. Curiosity getting the better of her, she turned around and stole a glance at the table across the great hall… Sure enough, Draco was laughing. She could see his white teeth glimmering and she could swear- _ swear-  _ that she could hear him. His chuckles had always warmed her right down to her toes. There was something so charming about him when he would let his guard down and laugh. Of course, she hadn’t actually heard him. It was much too loud for that, she could barely hear her friends who were standing a foot away from her. The sincerity in his laugh, the crinkling around his eyes that she had committed to the safest part of her memory... it was all in her head… Just like everything else about him. All of her ideas of who he had been… of the boy that she had grown to care so much about... had been wrong. She had built this image of him in her mind only to find the base of it rotting away. She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly very, very nauseous. The revelation of what he had kept from her was still too fresh.

“Hermione,” she heard Ginny say as a firm hand clamped down on her wrist. “Are you okay?”

When she shook her head in response, her eyes still closed tight, Ginny gently pulled her out of the group and away from any prying ears. 

“Do you want to go to the bathroom?” Her best friend asked in her ear and she nodded. She felt Ginny’s hand in hers as she led her out of the Great Hall. As they neared the exit Hermione couldn’t help herself; she opened her eyes to sneak one last look at Draco and Luna. She was shocked to find Luna’s hand on Draco’s, his hunched frame only barely covering their physical contact from her vantage point. He was- he was letting Luna Lovegood touch him? He wasn’t even trying to pull away! And the way he was sitting… Draco always carried himself with the air that you were nothing more than gum stuck to his shoe, with his nose in the air and his back straight. She had never seen him look so openly defeated in front of anyone.

She swallowed hard and tears began spilling down her face as they passed the threshold into the corridor, the stone wall now blocking her view. She turned around and followed her friend clumsily, she could barely see anything through her blurred vision. Something hard settled in the pit of her stomach, and she felt as though she may puke. 

When they arrived in the bathroom, Hermione pushed past her friend and stumbled into the nearest stall. The wooden door slammed behind her and she locked it before collapsing onto the smooth stone ground in front of the porcelain toilet. 

Ginny was knocking on the door and asking her questions, but Hermione’s heart was hammering too loudly in her chest to hear her. What was going on with her? Why did she feel so sick? She felt as though she was going to vomit, but she didn’t think she actually could. Only one word was echoing through her mind:  _ Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco. _

She couldn’t get his laughing visage out her mind’s eye, and she squeezed her eyes shut again, as if to ward it off. Why had she allowed herself to get so close to him? Why had he lied to her? Why did she think that he had been anything other than a monster? She wanted so badly to use her old time-turner to travel back and somehow prevent that evening in the corridor outside of the infirmary. She knew that it wasn’t how the space-time-continuum worked, and that their paths were forever bound to cross, but the thought of erasing everything--of removing the pain in her chest and the heavy ache in her stomach--still weighed heavily on her heart.

Tears dripped onto the stone below and she registered dimly how quickly her night had turned. Literally five minutes ago she had been dancing and singing with her best friends and now she was sobbing on the floor in a toilet stall, and all it had taken was just a name, a laugh, a touch. How had he ruined her so deeply in such a short period of time? No one had ever had such a deep impact on her in her entire life. Not even Ron or Harry. Draco had come from nowhere, turning her life upside down and making her the most miserable girl in the school. He had shown her his bigotry, his selfishness, and his cowardice, and she had hated him for it. Then he had shown her his vulnerability, his unending loyalty, and his tenderness and she had loved him for it.

That made her stop. 

After a few shaky moments staring hard at the cracks in the ground, Hermione sat up and swallowed. She wiped at her face with the back of her hands and looked at the tank of the toilet as the thought echoed in her mind once more.

She had loved him for it. She had...  _ loved him...  _ and she knew deep down, beneath or within the pain, the betrayal, that she still did.

“Hermione! Please answer me, you’re scaring me!” Ginny’s cries and frantic knocks finally seeped into her field of consciousness. 

“What?” She croaked back, finally finding her voice.

“Are you okay?” Ginny pressed, “Can I come in? Are you sick?”

“I’m okay,” she lied.

“No you’re not, please let me in,” she repeated, “Did you really drink that much? Do you want me to get you something?”

“Can you get me some water?” Hermione asked, standing up on wobbly feet. 

“Are you okay alone?” Ginny asked in return, hesitating. 

“Yes,” she stressed and felt relieved when she heard Ginny’s heels click quickly out of the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, Hermione put the lid of the toilet down and slumped on top of it. What was she supposed to do with this information? And why did it reveal itself to her now of all times? 

Did the fact that she loved him change anything? Did it make her weak to love a man who had betrayed her trust and privacy? Who had lied to her about what he had done? 

A moment passed before something occurred to her: he hadn’t really  _ lied _ … he had eventually admitted to what he had done. Yes, he had done it, but he had owned up to it that day in the infirmary. She could still clearly see him on his knees, begging for her to understand. For her to forgive him. 

Why had he done it? Why had he told her the truth? He must have known how it would look to her! Yet, he still did it. Why? He could have lied to her forever, and she never would have been wiser. Something had changed within Draco, something strong enough to convince him that it would be better to come clean and hope for her forgiveness. 

Maybe… he had grown to care for her as well? Maybe the idea of their relationship being tinted by the sins of his past was too much for him? 

A knock at her stall door made her jump. 

“Who is it?” She called shakily.

“It’s us,” Ginny said, “Luna is with me. We have water for you.”

When Hermione opened the door she found Luna and Ginny, watching her with wide, concerned eyes and two goblets of water in their hands. 

“Are you okay?” Ginny asked, thrusting the water into her grasp. “Were you sick?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Hermione admitted and downed the glass in what felt like two swallows. She hadn’t ever felt so thirsty in her life. 

“You’ve been crying,” Luna noted, “your pretty makeup is ruined.”

Ginny nudged her with her elbow to keep quiet. 

“What happened? Is it the firewhiskey?” her best friend asked, but after a few moments added, “Is it Draco?”

Hermione nodded, her face crumpling into grief once more and tears streaming from her eyes. Ginny wrapped her up in a hug so tight and quick that the empty goblet in Hermione’s hand was knocked away clattered loudly to the floor. Hermione cried into her best friend's shoulder, staining her skin and dress with mascara. She felt Luna’s arms encircle them both and felt her friend’s head rest lightly against her shoulder. They stood that way for what felt like ages, Hermione sobbing out her grief and her best friends holding onto her like she was a balloon that needed to be tethered down or she might float away and be lost. 

“I’m sorry, I just miss him,” she said once her sobs had lessened to to point of intelligibility. “And I still hate him, and I hate myself for every second that I spend thinking about him, but I… I just can’t seem to stop.” She sniffled a bit.

Ginny pulled away, breaking up the group hug. Her mouth was pressed into a firm, tight line as she held her friend out at arm's length. The intensity of her gaze made Hermione feel as though Ginny could see through her teary eyes into her very soul.

“You love him?” She asked and Hermione burst into tears again. Just how transparent had she been? Had she been wearing her heart on her sleeve this whole time? Why was she crying again?

“I- I don’t know.” Hermione stammered through her fresh batch of tears, “but I think... I think I’m ready to talk to him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ginny said immediately, shaking her head.

“We just had a wonderful conversation, actually,” Luna’s characteristically breathy voice cut in, “Draco and I.”

“That’s right! What did you say? What did he say?” Hermione asked with more intensity than she realized she had in her, turning her full attention on her Ravenclaw friend. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress, paying no mind to the way that her mascara smeared into the intricate lace. 

“He said that he ruined everything, and that he wanted to ask you to dance, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea,” Luna informed her, and Hermione’s heart beat sped up. He wanted to dance with her? He was admitting to her that he had made a mistake? How many other people had he told? 

“So what?” Ginny scoffed, “Draco lies. That’s what he does.”

“He also said that he deserved that punch four years ago, and that he would deserve it if you did it again,” Luna finished and smiled at Hermione.

“Okay, so maybe he tells the truth _ sometimes, _ ” Ginny relented, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt you again.” 

Hermione looked at her redhead friend and felt her resolve falter, that was true… Maybe he did feel regretful now, but what was stopping him from betraying her again?

“He seemed really sorry,” Luna said, looking up at the ceiling, “I think he was telling the truth.” 

Hermione looked into her sweet Ravenclaw friend’s earnest eyes and smiled despite herself. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Hermione finally answered, taking a deep breath.

She took the other goblet of water from Luna and downed it quickly. She realized that she felt much better. 

“Let’s go,” Hermione declared shakily and meant to move towards the door when Ginny seized her arm. 

“Uh, yeah… Your makeup actually _is_ kind of ruined. Let’s fix it up before we go back out.” Ginny stressed, guiding her away from the exit and toward the sinks and the mirrors. 

“Is it really that bad?” Hermione asked. 

“Oh yes,” Luna answered dutifully, “you look quite dreadful.” 

“Thanks,” she grumbled back, “you sure do know how to make a girl feel better.”

“You’re welcome,” she quipped, giving the Gryffindor girl a warm smile. 

 

* * *

 

When Luna excused herself to follow after Ginny, who had returned from the corridor with a distressed look on her face, Draco watched her go, his curiosity piqued. The two girls conversed shortly before they grabbed two goblets of water and made a hasty retreat out of the Great Hall. Was it Hermione? When he scanned the crowd once more he noticed that she had disappeared. An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew it was Hermione, it had to be her. Concern made him sit up straighter and he watched as they disappeared out into the hallway.

What was wrong? Was she feeling sick? He had thought she hadn’t noticed him in his dark little corner, but maybe she had...  Had his presence ruined her night after all? She had just been dancing and laughing not five minutes ago. He wanted to follow them out and see what was wrong, to apologize if need be, but he had to firmly remind himself that it was not his place. He would only make things worse. He could only wait for her to return and see that she was okay with his own two eyes, and once he saw that she was alright, he would turn in for the night. He had tortured himself enough for one day.

When she still hadn’t returned several minutes later, his leg began to restlessly bounce up and down. He didn’t want to sit still. He wanted to go find her. He had stood up and was about to follow them out of the Great Hall when they reappeared. Hermione looked okay, not sick at all. If anything, she just looked a little stressed. He stood frozen as he watched her scan the room, teeth biting nervously at part of her bottom lip. Was she looking for something? Someone?

When her eyes landed on him, he expected her to quickly shift her gaze, but it stayed there, locked in place. 

_ Finally _ , something deep in his heart sighed. After weeks and weeks of diverted glances and the unending sight of the back of her head as she ran away from him, she saw him. She saw him and he saw her. 

His heart began racing when she waved her friends away and slowly began making her way across the dance floor towards him. It was then that his feet began moving of his own accord, carrying him forward and towards her. He felt every atom and every cell in his body being pulled in her direction, it was magnetic. What was happening? Was he dreaming? Hermione Granger was approaching  _ him  _ after weeks of turning him down. What would she say? With every step, his heart moved a bit farther into his throat. He felt as if it would either choke him or burst open long before they met.

Suddenly, they were only six feet away from each other. They both slowed to a stop. Draco had to use every single mote of self control within him to stop himself from either dying right there on the dancefloor or sweeping her up in an embrace. He wasn’t sure which one would be less painful.

Hermione breathed in.

Draco breathed out, shakily. 

“Hi,” she finally said. 

“Hi,” he managed to respond. 

They stared at one another, neither willing to say or do something they would regret; both of them desperately searching for the words, the gesture that would mend the bond that had been torn. He wiped his palms on his formal robes, lamenting at the fact that he had imagined this moment over and over, but now that it was here his voice no longer worked.

“Can we go somewhere quieter?” Hermione asked, voice little more than a whisper. In the loud din of the Great Hall, he had to strain to understand her. “I think we need to talk.” 

He nodded wordlessly and followed her out on stone feet. She didn’t seem mad, but there was a certain strained air about her. As elated, as frantic as he had felt when she began her approach towards him, he felt a sudden doom looming over them as they sought privacy in the hallway. She was going to end it for good, he realized. This wasn’t a reunion… I️t was a sealing of the coffin. 

His limbs were like lead when they found a secluded cove in the hallway. I️t was there that she turned and leaned against the wall, her arms crossed somewhat protectively over her chest.

Draco hovered uncertainty. Was she waiting for him to speak? He had to say something! She was looking at him with those dark, expectant eyes. He only had one chance, he had to say the perfect thing...

“I’ve missed you,” he blurted. Fuck. That was certainly  _ not  _ what he had intended to say. 

To his surprise she didn't sneer, roll her eyes, or turn away. Her eyebrows furrowed and she pursed her lips, and after a moment she laughed- he couldn't believe his eyes. Relief flooded through his limbs and he felt the heaviness in his heart lift away. She was laughing...  _ Laughing!  _ That was very, very good. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered, giving in to honesty in a way that surprised even herself. Then, as quickly as she had burst into laughter, she dissolved into tears. Draco watched in despair as the tears fell from her eyes and down her face. Oh, fuck.

“Don’t cry,” he said, unintentionally reaching forward- to do what, he wasn’t even certain- but she leant away from him and he suddenly remembered his place. He kept his hands locked at his sides. 

“I hate that!” she stressed, “I hate that you act this way. Like you didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I’m not acting any way. I fucked up, Hermione,” he whispered, “I know I did.”

“Then why did you do it?” She asked through her tears.

“I- I didn’t…” he paused and licked his lips, brain churning to figure out the right words,   
“...I didn’t know you then.”

“You’ve known me for years,” she spat, fire burning in her mahogany eyes, “I wasn’t a  _ stranger _ .”

“I know! I know. Look, over the last few months you’ve become more than who you used to be.”

“I’ve always been the same,” She told him, arms folding tightly over her chest. 

“Bloody hell, Hermione! That’s not what I meant!” He cried, a hand running through his hair in frustration. He had to turn away from her, he couldn’t keep looking at the anger in her eyes, the tears dripping from her chin, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip… It was overwhelming. He had gone from having none of her... to all of her at once- including her emotional vulnerability- displayed in front of him. It made his mind frantic and his heart beat wildly in the center of his chest. He took a few deep breaths, he was only going to dig himself deeper and deeper if he didn’t figure out how to apologize. 

“I don’t understand,” she continued, the acid gone from her voice, “why did you tell me?” 

“Tell you?” He asked, looking at her incredulously, “Are you asking me why I told you the truth?”

Hermione looked at the ground, nodding slightly. 

“It just seems as though you didn’t have to tell me,” she explained, “I don’t understand what pushed you to admit everything. I never would have found out otherwise.” 

“You’re different now,” he repeated, mouth dry. 

“Stop saying that! I’m not,” she snapped, “I’ve been the same this whole time.”

“I mean... how I feel about you is different,” he explained, clenching and unclenching his fists in nervousness. At that, something shifted in her expression. Her arms fell from their locked position. 

“How do you feel about me now?” She whispered, and the question hovered in the air between them. They stared at one another, teetering on the edge of something Draco couldn’t quite place. “Tell me.”

“I’m in love with you,” he breathed, and with those words, a dam broke inside of him and spilled out through his lips. “You made me so confused and angry and fucking  _ loony  _ and at first I didn’t understand what you were doing to me… but when I realized how I felt about you, I would think about what I had done, and I couldn’t get this guilt out of my heart.” 

He clutched at his chest with white knuckles, “Everyday it was in the back of my mind. I couldn’t look at you without thinking of what I’d done. I told you the truth because I’m fucking mad for you!”

Hermione stood as still as a stone, watching him unravel in front of her. 

“I know what I did was wrong. I regret it every day,” he admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow, “and I know it’s ruined everything, and that I’ll never be able to take it back… but I wasn’t thinking clearly, and you weren’t who you are now to me.” 

Tears began to cloud his vision, but he pressed on. “I know that’s no excuse,” he continued, “you have always been who you are. A beautiful, kind, intelligent girl. So bloody wonderful. I didn’t see it before, and I’m a fucking fool for that. I’m so sorry for what I did, and I’m sorry for how long I kept it a secret.”

Hot tears carved their way down his cheeks, and he quickly ducked his head, wiping fiercely at them with his sleeves. Even once he had quelled the flow of tears, he didn’t raise his head; he couldn’t bear to look at her, if she looked at him with the same passive coldness she had shown him in the last few weeks, he would surely die. He had ripped open his chest cavity and pulled out his bleeding heart for her, and now he was completely at her mercy.

She didn’t say anything for an eternity, and what little hope he had had slipped through his fingers. It was then that he began mentally planning his escape from Hogwarts; there was no way in hell he would stay at this bloody school after all of this. It would be too painful. He would rather live the hungry, frozen life of a fugitive than be trapped within the walls of this castle with the love of his life who didn’t love him back.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he heard her whisper, so softly that it might have been a draft passing through a distant corridor.

He stopped breathing. 

...Had he heard that right? He looked up at her, and the sight of her smiling through her tears made his heart skip a beat.

“What did you say?” He asked dumbly, frozen in place. He didn’t trust his ears.

“I love you, too,” she repeated, laughing and swiping at her tears with the pad of her thumb.

“Are you saying that you love me?” He pressed, warmth flooding his heart and sweeping out into his limbs.  

“Merlin, Draco,” she rolled her eyes, “how many times do I have to say it?” 

“I just want to make sure… say it just once more,” he whispered, gaze searching her face for any sign of deceit or trickery. There was none. 

“I love you,” she said, cheeks burning under his intense gaze.

His feet slowly pulled him forward, a hand reaching outward. Was this a dream? When his fingers grazed her cheek and he felt the wetness of her tears, he knew it wasn’t. He leant down and she tilted her chin up in response, but when their lips were inches apart, he stopped.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked.

“I already have,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his lips. His heart soared. 

With her response, he let himself go. He closed the space between them and kissed her, his hands cradling her face. As their lips met, she wrapped her arms around him, the lace of her sleeves gliding over the sleek fabric of his dress robes. The last time they had kissed, Draco had felt sick to his stomach, the reek of what he had done filling his heart. Now, he had no hesitation, no inhibition holding him back. He expected to hear the voice of his father sneering at him in his head as it so often did, but there was only Hermione’s _ “I love you.” _ Every syllable of that sentence a fucking orchestra playing his heartstrings in ways they had never moved before. He could taste the words on her lips, feel them in the soft urgency with which they met his. He tried to respond, to send his feelings through his fingertips as they caressed her cheeks, traced tenderly over her hairline and down her neck.

A spark of frustration lit inside him. He needed to tell her, to make sure that she knew beyond any doubt that he loved her. That he loved her more than he had ever thought himself capable of. As thoughts failed him, he lowered his hands from her face and wrapped his arms tightly around her, deepening their unbroken kiss. His hands moved across her back, pressing her dress tightly against her body, as one hand made its way up to cup the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers reaching up into her hair, coaxing her lips even closer to his.

Being two separate beings wasn’t enough for him, in that moment, he wanted to become one with her. He wanted to lose himself in her until Draco Malfoy no longer existed. She must have felt the same, because when he suddenly pressed her into the wall, she not only let him, but responded enthusiastically. Her lips moved more fiercely, her mouth moving against his in such a way that it was hard for either of them to tell exactly where hers ended and his began. 

One of Draco’s hands tugged her hair slightly, causing some of it to pull free from her braid and leading her to inhale sharply before letting a slight moan pass from her mouth into his. The cold corridor wall only served to push her body more firmly against the warmth of Draco’s own. She could feel his desire expressed through every muscle in his body as they wrapped around and pressed against her. Even the brush of his nose against her cheek seemed to impart some hunger. She had never felt so connected to a person; she felt as if her feelings, her thoughts, were swirling around within her and passing directly through her skin into Draco’s, only to be multiplied and joined by his own as they passed back into her just as urgently. She pulled on his robes, drawing him even closer to her as she bit his lip slightly, feeling his soft skin against her lips and tongue. In return, his mouth slipped from hers, his lips brushing over her cheek and jaw before arriving at her neck.

Draco planted kisses like an orchard, scattering them from just below her ear to the top of her shoulder. He focused mainly on the center of her neck, loving the way that her shampoo filled his nose and her soft hair filled his face as he nudged her loose braid out of the way of his mouth. She gasped as he sucked lightly at her skin, pressing his mouth more firmly against her as his fingers splayed through her hair on the other side of her head.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he brought his face back to hers, the slight saltiness of her skin on his tongue being replaced by the now familiar sweetness of her mouth. Her tongue found his once again as she ran her hand through his hair, thoroughly disheveling it in the process.

When they finally managed to pull slightly away from each other, Draco watched Hermione’s face in the moments after. She stood with her eyes closed and her mouth pulled into a smile, seemingly just basking in the moment.  _ Now that… that was a kiss,  _ she thought to herself. Draco couldn’t help but briefly bring his lips back to hers, softly feeling the shape of her smile against them before drawing back again.

When she finally opened her eyes, she gazed at him dreamily.

“We never got to dance,” she whispered and he smiled. 

“Let’s dance, then,” he said and began to sway. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the comforting thud of his heart. 

Draco was soaring high. He couldn’t believe how the night had turned in his favor.  He squeezed her tightly for a moment, resting his chin on the top of her head. He had the girl he loved in his arms and he would, never, ever let her go again.

It was then that a blinding light flashed through the corridor, followed closely by an explosion that knocked them both back into the corridor wall and to the floor. Even crumpled to the ground in pain, his head ringing, Draco rolled over instinctively to put his body between Hermione and the source of the chaos. He barely had a chance to gasp a breath of air into his pained lungs before a wave of green fire engulfed them, a wave of unbearable heat roaring over their fallen bodies. 

Amid the chaos of the moment a thought rang clearly and loudly in Draco’s frantic mind:  _ the war had found its way to Hogwarts.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's already been a YEAR since I first posted this fanfiction! What a journey it's been... I'm so glad I didn't give up. I'm so glad I've pushed through all of the blocks and obstacles because this chapter is one of the absolute FAV things I've ever written... and I never would have gotten to see it without continuing on.
> 
> This fic has grown in tone and depth in ways that I had never intended. The light-hearted sexy tone in the beginning had been my original idea. I never thought it would get so heavy, but I guess that's what Dramione is. I don't know if you could ever have a light-hearted long form Draco x Hermione fic! They just BREATHE angst.
> 
> Also! Please be lenient of how we stray from canon from now on... It's been really difficult trying to carve out a believable path in this universe with the HUGE change made of Draco not trying to kill Dumbledore. Things are going to look different and similar in the 6th and 7th books from here on out. At first, I had intended to stop the fic with the forgiveness, but I've realized the story isn't done... And I know that there have been dozens and dozens of fics that have explored their dynamic during the war, but I think i'd like to give it a shot, too.
> 
> I think one of the saddest things for me in writing this fic is realizing just how dormant the Harry Potter fandom has become. I truly believe that if I had posted this fanfic in 2011-2012 it would be received better. Of course I was only like 15-16 then and my writing was super cringey. I wish I could go back in time to when the Dramione Fandom was not just ALIVE but THRIVING.
> 
> But no matter! Wide reception or no, I will continue this story for myself and all of you. I have always loved Draco and Hermione basically my whole life, and I'm so happy that my writing style and talent have matured but my obsession with Dramione never went away.
> 
> HUGE thank you to Thomas for being my co-captain on this ship. Without him, this story would have plot progression and dialogue, but none of the brilliant detail and heart-stopping emotion. That kiss at the end of the chapter? 75% him. Give him a shout out in a review!


	21. Chapter 21

After the wall of searing green fire had passed over them, Draco could smell his dress robes burning. He rolled off of Hermione, shooting up and quickly yanking the garment off. He stomped out the small embers licking at his coat-tails, his mind racing. Hermione sat up shakily, her hair a frizzy mess and a dazed look in her eyes. He knelt at her side, taking her face tenderly in his hands. She looked at him with a clouded, worried expression.

"Hermione, are you ok?" he asked, searching her face and body for any burns or cuts. He attempted to wipe a bit of soot from her cheek, grimacing slightly as it simply smeared. Satisfied that Hermione was relatively unharmed, he stood once more and surveyed his surroundings.

"Draco? What's going on?" She croaked, a hand reaching up to rub at a sore spot on the back of her skull.

"Hogwarts is under attack," Draco said, voice tense with worry as his eyes were drawn to the direction from which the fire came: the shattered windows which once looked out into the courtyard were now jagged wrecks; a bit of the stone that made up the window frames had been knocked loose, and now littered the entrance corridor.

"Under attack?!" she asked, but her voice was drowned out by the panicked clamor echoing out from the Great Hall. The music had ceased, replaced only with the sounds of shattering glass and shrieking students. At the sounds of their distressed classmates, Draco shot to his feet.

His heart hammered wildly in the confines of his chest as he realized the weight of the situation. It was happening. Death Eaters had found their way into the school despite his sacrifice. He reached into his robes and fumbled for his wand, he had a pretty good idea of why they were here… And he knew they had to stop it.

"We have to get to Dumbledore," he told her, reaching a hand down to hoist her up. When she reached for him, his eyes focused sharply on the ruby liquid staining her fingers. "You're bleeding!"

Hermione looked down numbly at the blood on her fingertips, confused. It must have happened when they were thrown back against the wall in the explosion. Draco wrapped one arm around her shoulder as the other hand gently pushed the hair away to inspect the wound on her head. She hissed in pain at even his most tender touch.

"Sorry," he told her. "I'll have to heal this."

"No. I'll do it," she said, reaching for the wand hidden in her sleeve. She moved to reach up and administer the healing charm, but he was already muttering the incantation and the familiar tingle of her skin being mended silenced her protests. The ache of what must have been at least a minor concussion faded as well. She sat quietly, heart racing as her mind tried to wrap around their sudden situation. Hogwarts was being invaded by what she could only assume were Death Eaters. Her home was being destroyed. Her friends... Harry might as well have had a bright red target strapped to his chest with the words  _"Please Murder Me"_  painted on it.

"We have to find Harry," she said, starting to move toward the entrance to the Great Hall. Her brain had been fuzzy after the initial impact, so she had been slow to register the danger they were in. But now after Draco's healing incantation, her mind was regaining its edge. They couldn't just sit there, they had to do something!

"No, Hermione. Remember why they wanted to break into the school in the first place?" Draco said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as she began to move past him. She whirled around to look at him with panicked mahogany eyes. "They're trying to kill Dumbledore," he stated.

"But what about Harry? What about everyone else?" She asked, tears welling up in her eyes, "There are muggle-borns just like me… They're going to kill them, too."

Draco had seen Dumbledore excuse himself to his quarters earlier in the night, so he wasn't in the Great Hall where Harry and the rest of them were ... which was surely crawling with Death Eaters and probably the most dangerous place in all of Scotland at the moment. Draco wanted to tell her that Harry was a big boy and that he could look after himself, but the look in her eyes made him stop. He knew that if anything were to happen to Harry Potter that they could have prevented, she would never forgive him.

"Okay, Potter first," he whispered, resigning himself to whatever she needed.

They nodded at each other, their gazes holding on to one another. Whatever they were now, whatever they had just experienced together… It would have to wait. They were both frightened, it was easy to see... but neither of them were too afraid to do anything. Hogwarts was their home, and they would be damned before they let it get destroyed before their very eyes.

"Let's go," she whispered, deftly tying her hair up with a ribbon that seemed to appear from thin air as they edged toward the entrance of their little alcove. Hermione peeked her head out just enough to see whether or not anyone was coming. It was clear, but the Great Hall was just around the corner, a mere twenty steps away.. She was certain it was swarming with Voldemort's army. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she wished she had the invisibility cloak.

She could only do the next best thing: she cast a disillusionment charm on both of them. She made the complex incantation look easy, her wand crafting the intricate spell with grace that reminded Draco just how formidable the Gryffindor could be. Draco watched as the charm took effect: Hermione faded from view until she was only a slight distortion on the otherwise unremarkable corridor wall. Draco raised one of his hands to his face, marvelling at its newfound transparency. As they slowly made their way out into the corridor, Draco's hand found Hermione's. If she had asked, he would have assured her that this was to keep track of each other. She didn't ask. The choking scent of melted furniture and burnt linen greeted them, and they had to try hard not to cough on the hazardous air.

"Careful, Granger," Draco breathed behind her, his voice materializing out of the air by her ear in away that gave her goosebumps "there's glass on the floor. Don't step on it."  
She thought it odd that he would be concerned for cut feet at that particular moment, but she simply nodded in return, shaking her head slightly to return her focus to the task at hand. With her wand gripped tightly in her hand and her heart in her throat, she edged toward the final corner, and the only wall separating her and the large oak doors leading into the Great Hall.

Once she had gained the courage to peek her head around the corner, she immediately noticed two hulking figures in the telltale ghoulish mask of the Death Eaters standing as sentries in front of the doors, their wands drawn. It was just as she had expected, but seeing them with her own two eyes made her hands shake and her confidence falter. How could she and Draco do anything to stop an entire armada of evil, fully trained adult wizards?

A scream echoed out of the Great Hall and Hermione swallowed hard. It didn't matter how much they could do, if they could even stall for a little bit of time to allow Dumbledore or the ministry to arrive and handle it themselves, it would be enough. With her resolve hardened, she stepped forward.

To her dismay, a glass shard crackled loudly under her foot as she stepped down, alerting the two guards of their arrival. Oh, that's why Draco had warned her to avoid the glass.

Without any time to feel foolish, Hermione threw up her wand and whispered "Stupefy!"

"Stupefy," Draco hissed, and Hermione watched the two guards crumple to the floor. They held their breath and both of them watched the door, expecting someone to rush out and assault them with a barrage of spells. When no one came out, they edged toward the guards, crouched low to the ground.

"That was easy," Hermione said after they had levitated the two unconscious forms somewhere less conspicuous.

"Too easy," Draco said, suspicion bleeding into his voice. He had been around Death Eaters all of his life. They were sharp, cunning murderers with reflexes quicker than most wizards or muggles. These two had been slow to react, having barely even realized that Draco and Hermione were there. An unsettling feeling twisted Draco's stomach as he reached down to pull one of their masks off.

His heart fell when his gaze fell on the familiar face.

"Goyle," Hermione gasped. She looked in alarm from Goyle's unconscious visage and reached down to quickly pluck the mask from his partner's face. Draco knew who it would be before it had even been revealed. "Crabbe."

His heart was a heavy rock in his chest. The dark path he himself had rejected had ended up consuming his childhood friends to the point that they were willing to hold their own school hostage. A sudden revelation dawned on him: he had seen almost all of his Slytherin peers leave the ball one by one. He had thought it strange that they were turning in so early... but now he realized why.

"They aren't Death Eaters," Hermione realized, a look of horror dawning on her face, "they're just kids."

"They're both," he mumbled.

Hermione stared down at the two unconscious boys. Despite their hulking frames and the whispers of facial hair, Hermione wasn't fooled. They were boys. Mere children. She had gone to school with them for a good portion of her life... they may have been a couple of door knobs, but they weren't evil.

"Why are they doing this?" She whispered.

"Because I didn't," he said, standing up. He gripped his wand tightly in his hand. "Death Eaters haven't broken into the school. They've been here this whole time."

Draco cursed his own inattentiveness. They must have been planning this for weeks, months even. Draco had seen them, huddled up in the common room, whispering suspiciously. They had always stopped talking as he passed, tossing him dark looks and mocking snickers until he was out of earshot. He had assumed that they were simply spreading rumors and exchanging methods of cheating on exams as they had always done, as he had once done with them, but it was clear to him now that he had been too caught up in his own woes to witness a coup gestating in his own dormitory.

. . .

"I want to see all of your wands on the floor NOW!" Millicent Bulstrode boomed, wand pointing at the crowd of kneeling students. A few whimpers arose from the mass of students accompanied by the clatter of wands hitting the stone floor.

"And we don't want to see anyone trying to be brave," Pansy Parkinson snarled, "there are enchanted explosives all around the school. If someone even breathes wrong, we'll blow the entire castle sky high!"

"And what exactly are you trying to accomplish with all of this?" Ginny Weasley asked, hand wrapped tight around the wand concealed in her long, draped sleeve.  
"That's for the Dark Lord to know and for ickle Dumbledore to find out," Pansy crooned, giving the red-headed girl a wicked smile. "Now, give us your wand."

Ginny's teeth clamped together hard as Pansy's wiggling fingers appeared in front of her face. Every single muscle in the young girl's body was screaming at her to fight, but as her eyes darted about the room at the dozen armed Death Eaters, the line of stupefied teachers, the shattered windows, the upturned tables and chairs, and the dozens of injured and burned children, she knew it was better to surrender. They had already blown up a portion of the courtyard, and she knew in her gut that they would do it again. With a slow, pained movement, Ginny dropped her treasured Yew wood wand onto the floor. If they had managed to stupefy all of the teachers, she knew she didn't stand a chance.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the wicked Slytherin girl asked. "Now the lot of you! Hands in the air!"

With the remaining wands on the floor, a masked student walked around to collect them all.

"Stand up," Theodore Nott said and yanked Ginny up by her wrist.

"Stand side by side!" A masked student barked, and the students shuffled themselves into several lines.

As she was jostled about by the Slytherin Prefect, she was stunned at how rough he had been… She had thought Theodore had been an okay guy. A little strange and quiet, but he had always been cordial to her. She swallowed hard, incredibly thankful that Dumbledore had asked for Harry to follow him up to his office before everything had gone to shit. Even if they were all dead, the world would go on… but Harry was important. He was the only one that had ever been able to survive a confrontation with Voldemort and live, aside from Dumbledore. Without him, Ginny was convinced that their world would be swallowed by darkness.

* * *

 

A tsunami of different emotions rolled over Hermione at the revelation that the people attacking Hogwarts were not, in fact, grown and war-torn Death eaters, but young and inexperienced students. She felt relief, first and foremost, at the news that Hogwarts shields and charms were still in place, and then dread that their own peers could be responsible for such atrocities... and finally, courage. Gone was the fear that they couldn't help. They were only kids. They were students, just like her. Especially with Draco's help, she could take them down.

"We need a plan," she said, "we can't just go in blind... Maybe we can sneak around and find a different way in, get in behind them and take them by surprise?"

"They would have sealed off all of the exits, we got lucky it was only Crabbe and Goyle in charge of watching this one," he whispered and jerked his head in the direction of the massive oak doors.

"We couldn't possibly sneak in," Hermione stressed, "everyone would hear the door opening. We'd be hexed to oblivion before we even step inside."

"Maybe we don't have to," he said, mind churning at a rapid pace.

* * *

 

"Tie them up," Theodore Nott ordered softly, eyes narrowing at the two Weasleys, "I'm not sure if I like how they're looking at us."

"We didn't do anything!" Ginny gasped indigininantly, but her arms were pulled roughly behind her as a rudimentary Incarcerous curse wrapped her wrists together in a painfully tight manner. By the ropes' thinness, Ginny could tell that the caster wouldn't pass their N.E.W.T.'s that year, but the spell was still strong enough to restrain her arms.

"You'll never get away with this," Ron spat, trembling in rage, "once Harry and Dumbledore get back, you're all through!"

"Perhaps," Theodore said, "but do you really think they would put up much a fight if they knew that half of their precious student body was being held in against their will… mere moments from certain demise?"  
A few choked sobs rang out, and a Ravenclaw fourth year passed out right on the spot, crumpling roughly to the floor.

Theodore looked at the panicking crowd with something akin to pity. Ginny didn't like the look of this boy one bit, and she bit her tongue to prevent saying something cruel that would almost certainly get her killed.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he spoke loud enough for the entire hall to hear him, "you don't have to die."

"What's the catch?" Seamus Finnigan asked, face dark with soot from the blast. The unlucky boy had been the one closest to the flames. Ginny thought that perhaps this was for the best, as Seamus certainly had the most practice weathering explosions.

"For those of you who are willing to cast aside your ego for a chance to start a new life full of glory and sacrifice under the Dark Lord, you may join us," he started and immediately the hall was full of raucous rejection.

"Join your lips with my arse!" A Hufflepuff girl cried from the back of the crowd.

"You can come with us," Nott said firmly over the panicked din, refusing to even consider her generous offer, "or you can stay here and burn with the rest of Hogwarts."

That got them to be quiet. The students looked at one another, eyes wide in panic.

Is this really happening? Ginny thought to herself. In what horribly ugly alternate dimension was this situation even possible? They had just been dancing and laughing, not a care in the world… now they were about to die.

"If you don't want to perish," Theodore continued, eyes passing over the mass of children, "kneel before us."

No one moved for several moments. They were faced with an impossible choice: join the side of the Death Eaters, or die. Ginny knew what she would choose, but she knew that not many would make that choice themselves.

When she heard the sound shuffling shoes and knees hitting the floor, she wasn't surprised. She wasn't even upset. She looked back of the group of kneeling students and gave them a reassuring look that she hoped conveyed, "it's okay, live to fight another day."

Perhaps she should have knelt, too… but she knew she couldn't. She wouldn't ever bow down to the monsters that had killed Harry's parents, tortured Neville's, and wiped out an innumerable amount of innocent muggleborns, and she knew that her brother felt the same way as her. He stood stiffly by her side.

She looked around. Everyone but a few upper class students were kneeling. Luna. Neville. Seamus. Dean. Cho. Lavender. Parvati. Padma. Michael. Terry. Hannah. Justin. Susan. Ernie. With a stab of sad pride, Ginny realized the group left standing was almost entirely made of up Dumbledore's army. Harry would be proud.

"Very well," Theodore murmured, appraising the massive amounts of kneeling children. "You've made the correct choice. The Dark Lord will be pleased. Bind the rest."

The few death eaters that didn't have designated posts made their way down the line of standing students, roughly yanking their arms back to tie them with charmed ropes.

"What on earth do you think you're doing!?" A voice roared out of nowhere. Students jumped in their spots and turned to look at the source of the sound.

They found Draco Malfoy pushing open the grand oak doors and striding into the Great Hall. He didn't bother to draw his wand, he simply kept an air of false confidence that he hoped would throw them off to the point that they wouldn't immediately hex him.

"There's the traitor!" Pansy cried, pointing an accusing finger to him, "grab him!"

Half a dozen masked Slytherins rushed toward him, but he didn't flinch.

"You've really outdone yourself Pansy," he sighed, swatting at the wand points hovering mere inches from his face. "This wasn't part of the plan."

"You don't know that." Theodore Nott stated, tone quiet but deadly nonetheless. "You don't know our plans. You're a traitor."

"Are you really that daft, Nott? I knew Pansy was thick but I never expected this from you," he rolled off, "the plan was to kill Dumbledore, not torture half the bloody school."

"How would you even know!?" Pansy snapped, but he didn't miss the flash of hesitancy in her eyes. Just as he had thought. No matter how brash or impulsive Voldemort and his followers seemed to be, they never would have orchestrated such a foolish, fruitless plan.

"Because I'm on your side, you dolt," Draco hissed, and from the corner of his eye he could see Hermione approach the back of the crowd on hands and knees. So far so good.  
"You are?" Millicent Bulstrode asked, her wand lowering a fraction. Draco's heart skipped a beat. It was working!

"He's lying," Theodore Nott said, eyes narrowing in suspicion, "the Dark Lord hates him, Millie."

"That's what he wants you think," he rolled his blue eyes in a sign of false irritation and allowed a bit of venom into his voice. "He didn't want you to blow my cover. Which you've now made me do, thanks to your idiotic antics." He spat the last two words.

Draco eyed the trembling children and stunned teachers with as much contempt as he could. It wasn't too hard; he had had years of practice. As his eyes scraped lazily over the crowd, his stomach twisted; Potter wasn't even here! This whole thing had been for nothing, and now he was in too deep to back out! Fuck, fuck, fuck! He should have just gone straight to Dumbledore's office!

"Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?" He asked, real irritation seeping into his voice this time. "What were you going to do? Turn them into death eaters one by one? That would have panned out fantastic. It's just what we need among our ranks, sniveling Hufflepuffs."

"It was Theo's idea," Pansy said, "and it's a good idea, Dumbledore will be too afraid to retaliate. And these mudbloods have had this coming for years. They need to know their place."

"It is not your responsibility to put them in their place!" Draco roared and pushed past the wall of Slytherins. Surprisingly, they let him go. "It is the Dark Lord's bidding we must follow, not Lord Theodore's," he drawled sarcastically, bowing mockingly to the boy.

Uncertainty passed its shadow over Pansy, who looked at Nott in trepidation.

"Why should we believe you?" Theodore asked, stepping forward to meet Draco six feet away. The bespectacled boy regarded him with a cold and calculating gaze.

"It's the truth," Draco said and shrugged, "I've been gathering information for over a year."

In the distance, he saw Hermione reach for the sack of Wands dangling from the belt of one of the masked figures.

"The Dark Lord would have told us," Theodore said, unwavering in his conviction, "he trusts us now."

As if to emphasize his point, he pulled up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing an inky black tattoo. Draco knew it would be there, but a sharp pang of regret coursed through him at the sight of it nonetheless. He had abandoned such a fate, but it had fallen into the arms of his classmates. Perhaps they all would have become Death Eaters down the road, but he doubted it would have happened so soon for them if not for his decision.

"Who are you to question the Dark Lord's plans?" Draco asked, eyes trained on the boy in front of him. He so desperately wished he could steal another quick glance at Hermione to see if she had successfully snatched the wands back, but he knew it would give her up.

"I'm not questioning the Dark Lord's plans," Theodore countered, "I'm questioning your word. And for good reason, it seems… your little scheme won't work."

He looked directly at Hermione, and Draco did his best to shield his shock and horror at the revelation that they had been found out.

"Carter," he snapped, "there's a mudblood at your feet with all of the wands we just confiscated." In response, the Masked Death Eater- apparently 7th year Diane Carter- looked down in shock as Hermione scooted backwards in horror, fumbling for her wand.

"Do be more observant next time," Nott sighed in disappointment, almost as if he was nothing but a teacher whose student failed an exam.

The crowd cried out as Carter grabbed Hermione by her hair and pulled her roughly to her feet. The bag of wands was snatched from her hands and she hissed in pain at the hand gripping her scalp.

"Don't touch her!" Ginny seethed.

"No! Hermione!" Ron cried, struggling against his bindings.

"Well, Draco, it seems as though you weren't enough of a distraction for your little girlfriend to save everyone," Theodore tisked, shaking his head. "That was your plan, wasn't it?"

That had definitely been their plan, and even though it had fallen through, he couldn't just give up his act. If they couldn't save the school themselves, maybe the could buy time and distract Nott and his followers long enough for the ministry to arrive.

"You're an even bigger fool to believe that I would allow a mudblood to be my girlfriend," Draco sneered, "I didn't even know she was there."

"Liar!" Pansy cried out, suddenly passionate, "everyone knows you two have been shagging around!"

"Don't be jealous, Pans," Draco rolled off, "just because I won't shag you anymore doesn't mean I'd shag any little muggle-born whore."

He could hear Hermione stifle a gasp, perhaps he was laying it on a little thick. He winced internally.

"Interesting," Theodore hummed, "if what you say is true, perhaps we can do a little… test."

Draco did not like the sinister look growing in the boys' eyes. He had never known the shy classmate and friend had such an evil side to him. He swallowed hard, hoping he looked as impassive as ever.

"Carter, bring Granger up here," Nott instructed softly, eyes trained on the traitor before him. He watched Draco's face carefully, who did his best to look as bored and disinterested as possible, despite the fact that his heart was beating so hard he thought it was only moments away from bursting out of his chest.

Carter shoved Hermione roughly forward until they were past the mass of hostages and into the main circle of death eaters. Draco watched Hermione. She stared impassively back at him, refusing to show any signs of fear. Well, she was doing her best; the slight trembling of her lips gave her away. Despite this, he was impressed, as any other girl in her position would be sobbing uncontrollably- hell, any boy too.

"So, since you obviously don't care about her, you wouldn't mind it if I did this," Theodore stated, casually drawing his wand. Before Draco could blink, Theodore hissed an unforgivable spell and a horrible green light sprang from the tip of his wand. She crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, Draco's panicked mind thought that Nott had killed her, since she had made no sound. He stood frozen in shock, all of the air leaving his lungs as he watched her fallen form in disbelief. As he stared unwaveringly at her body, he noticed a slight spasm. She was alive! As he continued watching his brain still attempting to come to terms with what he was seeing, Hermione let out an almost inaudible gasp of pain. The Cruciatus.

It was sheer shock and dumb luck that kept Draco's body in its spot. Every atom and cell in his body wanted to rip out his wand and murder them all in an instant. Gone was any sort of regret or sorrow that he had held for his peers' fate. He hated them, and he knew he had to stop them no matter what.

But he knew he couldn't act rashly, for he was the only obstacle between the hall of students and the bloodthirsty group of Slytherins. His poker face must have been better than he thought, because Theodore hummed in approval, pulling Draco's attention back to the vile boy.

"Impressive," he said, nodding. "It seems as though Malfoy may be telling the truth after all."

"Theo, can I cast one too?" Pansy purred, crossing the room to murmur in his ear, "I've always wanted to give the bitch what she deserves."

"Very well," Theodore responded, pushing up his glasses, "what do you think, Draco?"

Draco simply shrugged, because he knew if he spoke, a dam would break with all of the curses and insults he could think of. He couldn't give himself up.

"This could all stop if you just say the word," the bespectacled boy said as Pansy gleefully pointed her wand at Hermione.

The collapsed girl lifted her head with great effort to gaze at Draco. He was shocked at the amount of anger and passion that swam in her eyes, and with the slightest crook of her neck, she shook her head. It was almost imperceptible, but she had definitely done it. His heart sank to his stomach… She knew what he was doing, and she knew that she also had to suffer if anyone had a chance of getting out of there alive. She was so bloody selfless, and he found that he admired her even more… he hadn't realized that was possible.

That gave him the courage to speak.

"I don't know what you're trying to get at with this," he said, and it was a miracle his voice didn't tremble in rage and fear. "I don't care about the mudblood. Do what you wish."

It was the hardest thing he had ever said, and each syllable pained him as much as the Cruciatus curse would have.

"Malfoy, no!" Ginny cried, "Don't let them do it!"

"I'll kill you, Malfoy!" Ronald Weasley spat, his face the same shade as his hair. In response their outbursts, two masked students rushed forward to restrain them further.

"Crucio!" Pansy sang and the vile green light once again enveloped Hermione, and this time she couldn't hold back a scream. It tore from her throat, guttural and raspy. She writhed on the floor while Ron and Ginny tried to break free from their bindings, struggling against the Slytherins holding them. They cried out her name, and Ginny looked at Draco with wild, pleading eyes. He averted his gaze, teeth gritting painfully.

He wished he could do something, but he stood as still as one of the marble statues in the Malfoy Manor's foyer. Pansy's manic giggle bubbled out of her throat in a fashion disturbingly similar to that of Bellatrix's infamous cackle, and Draco wanted to wrap his hands around her pale throat until she stopped breathing. It took every ounce of willpower to keep his arms and legs locked in place.

It was then that he saw Blaise, who had been previously knelt with his head down, shift in his spot. He was crouched behind Theodore, and it seemed as though they hadn't bothered to bind him, perhaps trusting that the Slytherin boy would remain complicit enough. His head tilted upwards enough to make eye contact with Draco.

And just by looking at the glint in Blaise's eye, Draco realized that he knew. He knew that Draco was just acting the part.

It was then that Blaise's eyes flicked to Theodore Nott and Draco saw his plan unfold in front of him as if the dark-skinned boy had told him with words. He was going to try and tackle Nott. His dying heart fluttered in his chest at the sign of hope. If Blaise did something like that- even as reckless as it was- it might open up a chance for Draco to move in and attack. He could save everyone.

He felt the hawthorn wood of his wand burning against his forearm, as it was tucked away safely. The idiots had never demanded it, probably thanks to the fact that he had never drawn it. He itched to tear it from its place and rain death down upon each and everyone one of them.

Patience, Draco, his mother's voice echoed in his mind.

It occurred to him then that Theodore had asked him a question, but his mind had been too loud to hear him.

"Hm?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, "sorry, I've just been so bored with this nonsense it seems as though my thoughts have been carried away."

For the first time, real anger flashed dangerously through Nott's eyes.

"Don't be funny, Malfoy," he said, voice as sharp as a razor blade, "I asked if you would do the honors of the next curse."

He followed up his statement with a sinister grin, "unless, of course, you don't want to."

Draco swallowed and looked at Blaise, who was slowly rising to a kneeling position. Realizing that it was up to him to draw the guards' attention away from Blaise, Draco forced a cold, mocking laugh from his throat. To him, it sounded more panicked than maniacal, but he hoped the sudden and abrupt noise would draw all attention towards himself.

It worked, you could hear a pin drop if not for Hermione's soft cries.

"Alright, Nott," he chuckled, "I'll play your silly game."

"No! You bastard!" Ginny spat, "Don't do it!"

"You're dead, I swear to Merlin!" Ron cried, trembling in rage.

It was then he drew his wand and turned towards Hermione, who looked at him with wide eyes. He could see a dark cloud of despair rolling behind her pupils, for a second, he could see that she actually believed that he was going to hurt her. Even though it was necessary, the thought of Draco— her Draco— being on the other side of the curse was too much for her. He wished he could tell her everything would be okay, that he wouldn't hurt her ever, and after this he would keep her from harm with his dying breath.

Despite his rolling stomach and hammering heart, his hands were still. From his peripherals, he saw Blaise brace himself, hands on the floor.

"Crucio!" he cried, the curse ringing out with disturbing clarity and confidence. A split second before the spell erupted from his wand, he flicked it deftly from Hermione's huddled form, the tip shooting toward Pansy. The Slytherin girl howled in pain and several things happened at once: Blaise launched himself at Theodore as the boy tried to retaliate against Draco with his own curse, and they fell to the ground in an ungracious heap as Blaise's shoulder caught Nott in the ribs. Ginny sprung into motion, biting down hard on the arm wrapped around her neck and, when it released her, whirling to send a vicious kick into its owner's crotch. While at first Ron simply gawked stupidly at Draco, he worked everything out rather more quickly than usual and flung his head backward, cracking it loudly against the Death Eater's face.

"Everyone run!" Ron Weasley cried, whirling around and punching his reeling guard in the stomach with his bound fists.

His plea fell on deaf ears, as the crowd of students seemed to be too stunned to act, particularly the novice Death Eaters, who couldn't think quickly enough to retaliate against the four of them. Draco sent stunning and disarming spells in every direction he saw masked students as Blaise wrestled Theo to the ground, trying to rip the wand from his grasp. As the two Slytherins struggled, Ginny and Ron fought against their captors using nothing but their knees, and teeth, and bound fists, cheered on by the screams and shouts of the rest of the DA. Pansy moaned pathetically on the floor, clutching at her stomach as Hermione pushed herself onto her trembling knees. It was chaos, but it seemed as though luck was turning in their favor. Their guards were left bleeding on the floor, and now the two redheaded siblings struggled to free themselves.

"Malfoy!" Ginny grunted, as she pulled uselessly at the magical knot "a little help here!"

Despite the desire to rush to Hermione's side, Draco nodded and fired two dispelling shots in their direction. He then turned his attention on the two grappling boys, who were cussing and punching and pulling at one another. He tried to get a clear shot at Theo, but they looked like a tangle of rolling limbs. Fuck!

Ginevra used her newly freed hands to rip the bag of confiscated wands open, and she allowed herself to feel a moment triumph with a grin. She was about to throw it into the mob of students when two words made her freeze in horror.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_  A voice cried out, a sickly green light filling the great hall.

Everyone froze.

All heads swiveled to the two forms lying motionless on the floor. After a few breathless moments, Blaise's limp body rolled sideways off of Theo and onto the stone floor. A few horrified screams and sobs echoed about the Great Hall.

"No!" Hermione cried, eyes wide in shock.

"Blaise!" Draco didn't recognize the sound of his own voice. He watched in horror as his best friend's dead body was shoved roughly aside as Theodore Nott scrambled up, breathing heavily, curly hair sticking up at all ends. He held a shaking wand out as he surveyed the scene behind crooked glasses. He was the only Death Eater left standing.

"Stay back!" He cried, eyes wild. He seemed to finally have lost that calculating, cold disposition.

Hermione crawled towards Blaise's corpse, sobs racking her body. Draco wanted to stop her, but he couldn't seem to move.

"Blaise?" She cried, rolling him onto his back. "Blaise?"

When Zabini's cold, lifeless gaze was revealed, it was too much for Draco. Hot, angry tears filled his eyes; his best friend was dead, and it was all his fault! If he had acted sooner, if he had been more confident and just taken the bloody shot, he would still be here.

"How could you?!" Draco roared, turning his anger to the murderer instead of inward, "he was our friend!"  
"He got in my way!" Theodore countered, but his trembling hand gave him away. The boy's gaze flicked regrettably from under his glasses to Zabini's corpse. Theodore and Blaise had been best friends since first year. They had only parted ways at the same time Draco and Blaise had, for the same reasons as well. If his death affected Draco, he was sure it would ruin Theo. They had been like brothers even before Draco had joined the mix of Pure-blooded friends.

"You're a murderer, Nott!" Draco cried, seeing nothing but red. He stalked forward, fists clenched and wand out. He was going to kill him.

Unaware of the danger around her, Hermione closed Zabini's unseeing dark eyes, tears dripping onto his skin. She placed her hands on either side of his face, grief choking her and making it hard to breathe. She leant down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I'm so sorry, Blaise," she whispered through her sobs, thinking of his Mum, Dad and newly discovered muggle sisters. They would never see him again, and it was her fault. If they hadn't been so reckless in their attempt to save everyone, he would still be alive.

Her thoughts were cut short by a rough hand ripping her away from Blaise and bringing her to her toes. A rough arm locked around her throat, cutting away her access to air. She felt the sharp point of a wand stab against her temple.

"Don't move!" Nott cried from behind her, his deep voice rumbling against her back. "If anyone takes another step… I'll kill her!"

Draco stopped, eyes wide, his angry grief took a backseat to fear. He watched Hermione choke and pull at the rock solid hold Theodore had on her, tears of sorrow still streaming down her face.

"I swear to Salazar!" the boy cried, "I'll kill her just like I killed the half-blood!"

"Don't," Draco pleaded, "Please, Theo. Please don't do this. You don't have to… you have a choice."

It was then that Draco saw a wetness pouring down Theodore's face that hadn't been there before.

"You're wrong. I have to do this," he sobbed, " _I_  have to do this because  _you_  couldn't... He'll kill me if I don't. He'll kill my mum."

Draco watched in horror as his former friend unraveled in front of him, realizing that this would have been his fate if he had chosen to go through with the plan to murder Dumbledore himself. He hadn't saved Hogwarts... he hadn't saved anyone. All he had done was curse another with his fate.

"You had Dumbledore destroy the cabinet, so this was the only way," Theo spat, tears dripping into Hermione's hair, "this is all  _your_  fault, Malfoy. It could have been so much simpler."

It was then that another masked student rushed in, breathless.

"Theo! Dumbledore and Potter are back! They just apparated into his off-!" He announced, not having realized the situation unfolding. He choked on his words mid-sentence and began fumbling for his wand.

"No," Ginny whispered from her spot, gripping the bag of wands tightly in her hand. She wasn't sure where they had gone, but she lamented the fact that they had chosen that moment to return.

It was then that Theo's tears seemed to dry up. Draco watched as he seemed to pull himself together in a matter of moments. He looked at Hermione, who looked back at him with a fiery gaze that said 'do something! Stop him.'

"Thank you, Higgs," Theodore said and began stepping around the group, never breaking eye contact with Draco. He slowly edged his way to the door until he was side by side with Terence Higgs, who looked at him in trepidation.

"You stay here and make sure the rest of them don't get into any trouble. I'm going to take Granger to pay our dear old HeadMaster a visit, and if anyone tries to follow," he informed the group of students, his grip tightening around Hermione's throat. She struggled against his chokehold, her vision sparkling as he continued, "I'll kill her. "

It was then that he disappeared from behind the oak doors. Despite Theodore's warning, his feet began moving of their own accord. Higgs pointed his wand at the approaching blonde.

"Stay back!" He cried, backing up in fear, "I'll curse you!"

Draco didn't bat an eye as he sent a disarming and binding curse his way in quick succession. One second the young Death Eater had been standing, wand in hand, and the next he was flat on his back, wand being snapped in half in Draco Malfoy's white-knuckled grip. He struggled against his binds as Malfoy threw away the scraps of his sparking wand. And with that, the Great Hall was theirs once more.

"You won't get away with this!" he cried, "the Dark Lord will kill you!"

"Weasley," Draco barked at Ginny, ignoring the trembling boy's threat, "get everyone out of here. Longbottom, find a way to contact the ministry. And Finnigan, ask our friend here about those other explosives. I'm going after Nott and I'll get Hermione back safely."

Ginny released a shaky breath, looking more pale than he had ever seen her. She knelt down and emptied out the bag of wands, spreading them out on the floor.

"Everyone find yours," she whispered, unable to stop the relieved tears spilling from her eyes. Finally, the group of students stood shakily from their spots. Almost all of them were crying freely, clutching at themselves and at each other. A few rushed forward to arm themselves immediately, and few ran straight to embrace their friends and siblings. They had all narrowly avoided a fate that none of them figured they would have found themselves in that night.

As those with wands went about the tasks of Rennervating the professors and binding the traitorous youth Death Eaters, Ginny stood up to survey the room. The Hall, which had been so ornately decorated just minutes before, was in shambles. The tables had been upturned, the chairs broken or otherwise scattered across the vast room. The decorative banners and tablecloths had been burned by the flames and subsequently shredded by wayward spells. Strangely, almost poetically, the charmed candles were still functioning, their delicate glowing snowflakes swirling down in the same, dreamlike manner as before. Whereas before they had alighted on awestruck faces and beautifully complex lace and satin robes, and been sent drifting around by the vortex of dancing bodies, they now fell straight down, covering the tops of smashed tables and torn cloth with a gilded layer. Ginny raised her wand, catching a flake on its tip before turning and joining the students who had begun the long task of finding some semblance of order amidst the rubble.

Draco watched as the group of students organized themselves and Rennervated the teachers. He took one last look at Blaise's body before slipping out the door and into the now freezing, glass-filled corridor.

With every step he took towards his fate, he knew that he would finally make the right decision. Never again would he cower and hide, or watch from the shadows as Potter, Hermione, and their friends saved the school.

Never again would he let someone like Blaise die uselessly before his 18th birthday, or would he let someone like Theo be turned toward the darkness under the fear that they themselves would be killed. Never again would he let a muggle-born girl like Hermione writhe in pain under the Cruciatus curse like thousands before her. Draco gripped his wand tightly in his hand as he rushed after Nott. The smooth grain of its hawthorn wood felt reassuring in his grasp. With a determined look in his eyes, he sprinted down the corridor, as ready as he ever would be.

This fucked cycle was over, and he would end it single-handedly if he had to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet, and honestly, this fic has just completely gone off the rails on what it was originally supposed to be. My BETA Tom and I were like "what have we gotten ourselves into!" Because now we have to figure out how to rework canon to fit into everything... HEADACHE!
> 
> Let me know what you think, if you saw it coming, or anything else you want to say! See you next chapter!


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